


Current Location: The Void

by TheMissluluB



Series: Void [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (Past and Slight Relapse), As in he was dead in the past, Body Horror, Canon-Typical violent behaviour, Death Idolisation, Eating Disorder/Starvation, Implied Referenced Character Death (Past), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kurloz POV, Mentions of Sparkling Water, Meulin Leijon/Kurloz Makara Flushed (Past), Mituna Captor/Kurloz Makara Moirallegiance (Past), Multi, OCD, Over-Protective Moirails, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Pure Unadulterated Guilt, Referencing his mouth so really it's canon related, Regret, Tea disasters, Unabashedly shipping people, Whether ‘Bran Flakes’ classes as a cereal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-08 15:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14697465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissluluB/pseuds/TheMissluluB
Summary: Kurloz Makara hates this newly made universe. He feels like the newly-made universe hates him, too. Which is probably why he got himself stuck inside a food-storage block in the first place.Well, it's better than the trees.





	Current Location: The Void

**Author's Note:**

> The first installment, classed in Equius's Void.
> 
> In other news, I... may or may not have enjoyed writing Kurloz's POV too much. So much so that I wrote over 20 thousand words of his POV.

Your name is Kurloz Makara and you’ve just woke up. The game had been won (but not by you), your Lord has been killed (courtesy of someone else, not you), and you appear to have regained life once more on what is seemingly a newly made universe (which, of course, wasn’t made by _you)._ You rub on your eye. This was not meant to happen _at all_. You should have been given some kind of salvation - something! Was your religion _really_ bullshit this entire time?

(Of course it was. It was based on two immature Cherubs raised by a barely 7 sweep old troll. Raised by your _dancestor,_ even. It was all true, but the words were convoluted; switched for something more joyous. Trickery, in essence. The truth of the world is that it is created upon lies. The Vastest joke of life is life itself.)

You glance to your left and see Mituna lying on the ground. You only wanted to help him, and look where it got you. Nowhere. He barely remembers your name anymore - barely remembers his _own._ That’s probably your fault somehow. (You know in your heart that it is). He’s still asleep. Good. You hope he doesn’t remember you when he awakens. It’s for the best.

You look to your right and see Meulin in a similar position to Mituna. You loved her with all of your heart and more, brought her into the religion, even. It’s rare to get a non-purple believer, but you made it possible. Then you deafened her and used her for the Lord’s gain. She probably hates you. That’s a lie, she can’t hate anyone. The truth is, she _should_ hate you, but she _doesn’t._ She doesn’t deserve this. She’s also passed out, but she appears to be stirring. That is not so good.

You made your decision the split second after you noticed Meulin stir. They all hate you, and if they don’t they fucking _should._ They’ll try to kill you. You… don’t really want to die again just yet. It’s better to go now.

You find a scrap piece of paper in your pocket and rip it in half, before writing the same message on each one.

I’M SORRY.

You leave it by them, get up quickly, and flash step into the trees. You’re better off not bothering with them. Mituna, Meulin, they’re better off without you.

Everyone is.

* * *

It’s been a whole hour since your decision to run away into the trees and you haven’t regretted it… yet. You bumped into Gamzee earlier; he had made the same decision as you, and you don’t blame him. He’s more likely to get killed than you are. You get so lost in your thoughts about it that you end up tripping on a raised tree root while running. You groan and mumble a quiet “Ow…” to yourself, before jolting to a halt.

You touch your lips. No stitches. You tentatively stick out your tongue. It’s there. You quickly put that thing back where it came from and scream inside your head. You move on forwards through the foliage slowly as you silently scream.

(So you’re guessing that this is the “Salvation” you were thinking of earlier; this bastard of a planet granted you with the gifts that your universe had stolen, like your voice, your stupid stupid- honk, yeah, that thing that _stole her hearing!_ You don’t deserve to have that back, you don’t even _want_ it back, you never wanted it back, please Put It Back Where It Came From; Put It Back _Put It Back_ **_Put It Back_ ** \- Why would they return it to you, anyway??? You never ever wanted it back- wait, _did_ you?? Did a part of the twisted realms of your mind wish for you to speak aloud once more???? You suppose you have always spoke one way or another, so maybe- _Maybe your own desires betrayed what you truly deserve!!!_ Bullshit bullshit bullshit it’s all fucking _bullshit-)_

(Make it stop, please, it’s touching your _teeth,_ dear Messiahs, what did you do to deserve this? Hahahahaha honk ohfuck-)

(This _feels_ like a motherfucking _panic attack,_ but you don’t _have_ panic attacks anymore, so it can’t be a panic attack obviously- there’s no motherfucking way can it be!! You’ve grown out of them!!! Yeah!!)

(Maybe this is a _punishment!!!_ Not the REWARD you were expecting!!! That makes more sense!! The New World is torturing you by stealing what you grew to prefer, and giving back something you now cannot stand, that makes so much more sense now, totally, no rewarding here at all!!!)

(You can’t handle this, nope nononono- eww eww eww, it feels weird, holy mother of the fucks, **_make it STOP-_** )

You lean on the nearest tree and attempt to calm yourself down. Your phone usually helps with- oh shit, oh no. Where’s your phone? It’s not in your sylladex, nor is it in your pockets, fuck _fuck fuck._ You turn back on yourself, and find it in a puddle. You hear rustling in the trees.

You are _not_ risking that in this state.

You run away from it.

So, there goes your only way of communication to the outside world. Well, you needed to disappear anyway and that’s the first step.

Step two is finding a place to stay and a stable source of food and drink. Beforus never taught you any survival skills; the only trolls on your team with a semblance of them are Damara, Rufioh, and Horuss - All three of which lived in the forests of the Lost Weeaboos. Adding on to that, Horuss and Damara only _barely_ have a sense of self preservation.

But you? You were culled the moment people found out SeagoatDad got killed. They wouldn’t let the Ocean Bird you imprinted on adopt you, and had thrown you into the Church’s adoption homes. You had to wait for another Purpleblood (or, Messiahs forbid, a _sea dweller)_ to take you in and raise you to be a Good Little Church Boy, or some kind of servant to the sea dwellers, you don’t know. Failing that, one would grow up and fall into practising the religion anyway. End up being one who helps in Mass Proceedings. You weren’t old enough to find out what fate had in store for you if you been left there to grow up fully; the Ocean Bird kidnapped you out of the church after 2 or 3 sweeps. It was far too late; the mental damage was already done.

You’re sure that the Empress meant well - it was _Feferi,_ for fucks sake, you’ve seen her in the bubbles and she’s so, so different from Meenah - But the methods she used to try to “help” others were probably good in theory, but not good in practice. Definitely not good in practice. It wasn’t good for anyone.

(It wasn’t good for Horuss, who hides his experiences of being culled in a thick layer of Void; it’s easily broken when asking the right questions, _and_ he actually _got away._ It was damaging for him nonetheless, it still affects the way he acts. It wasn’t good for Mituna, who had complained that he kept getting coddled and just wanted to be left _alone,_ but they would never leave him be. Of course they wouldn’t, he’s _gold._ It was certainly not a good incentive for Latula, who even now still worries about getting culled for an accident wherein she lost her sense of smell; no one needs culling for that, but it _still happened._ It wasn’t good for Rufioh either, he developed anxiety while being culled because he was hatched with _wings._ Why does a mutation like that require _culling?_ And Kankri. Kankri, Kankri, Kankri. You never cared about him, but it definitely wasn’t good for him! He’s been coddled from the moment he hatched with the wrong colouring and had no lusus caring for the motherfucker. Reminded you of you almost, if he had just stopped _talking about himself for once in his goddamn life and looked at the full motherfucking picture.)_

(It wasn’t good to you, either.)

(You still look over your shoulder just in case someone is there watching you, and brace yourself for the upcoming punishments because you’re talking to your friends instead of working. You triple check your computer for spyware _just in case;_ it has become such a habit that you have to check every time you log off. You use a different password for everything and change them all every month or so; no one will be able to hack you because _what person changes their password on_ ** _everything_** _every_ ** _month_** _?_ You made a gazillion trollian accounts (okay, you’re over exaggerating, but there’s 5 accounts that are still _active)_ just in case someone hacked one of them and read all your messages; you delete your logs too, so if you _were_ hacked, they wouldn’t find anything. There’s no harm in being prepared for the worst, after all. You lock your own respiteblock door every night for fear of being spied on, you still delete the website history every time you close the browser.)

(You’ve even trained yourself enough to not move even a single visible muscle during a panic attack, so no one can tell you’re suffering from one. You’ve even wraggled your ‘voodoos in too, they only leak occasionally when you have one now. It’s simply a protective mechanism you’ve made; you may be dying on the inside, but if you look ok, no one will ask if you need help. No one will cull you. That’s the important thing here.)

(You _know_ that no one should be afraid of people invading their privacy. No one should be afraid to show emotions that isn’t ‘I’m fine’. But you’re _terrified_ of it. It’s just what’s _normal_ for you. That’s just the after effects of what culling _did_ to you. But you’re a highblood! You’re Purple! At least you came out _sane!_ Others, like lowbloods and mutants like Kankri for example, had it _a lot worse,_ as he keeps telling you. You guess you “got lucky”, then.And you only got _lucky_ because you’re a _highblood!_ Hahaha… ha. Honk. What a vast joke that is.)

(Even now you’re scared that they’ll catch you running away and drag you back ‘hive’. To the Church Homes. That you _know_ are non-existent now. Because nothing will ever work. You can’t get away from it. You don’t have a miasma-like presence of Void surrounding you and blocking out everyone’s vision of your position, that’s the only reason Horuss got away. At least that’s what he told you. The Ocean Bird’s dead, and SeagullSprite doesn’t even _exist_ anymore. So why should you even _bother_ running away now, then? It’s fucking hopeless and you know it. Just give the fuck up already.)

You have absolutely no idea how to look after yourself on your own, now that you’ve done what you just did. You’re pretty sure you’re going to die within the week. Well, life here was nice while it lasted. Goodbye cruel world, etc.

_Ah, yes. The sweet smell of pure regret. How I’ve missed you. Not._

You take refuge under a tree as you watch rain fall. You’re cold, wet, and hungry. You’ve nothing except the clothes on your person, and whatever’s in your sylladex. You open said sylladex on a whim and take a proper look through it.

Oh hey, a jacket. You forgot you picked that up.

You find some semblance of food and drink in your sylladex and take a ponder on it. Honestly though, if you hadn’t had dropped your phone in a puddle and abandoned it, you would totally Troogle ‘how long can a Purpleblood last on 5 bottles of Faygo, a loaf of bread, a bottle of flavoured water, and 16 tubes of stale pringles?’

But that’s a question for another time. Right now you’re more worried about _actually eating_. You need to ration. The last time you ate a thing, you were _alive._ Now, you are alive… again. After being dead for over a millenia. How do you eat, again?

You honestly can’t remember.

It’s something to do with jaw motions, that’s for sure. Motherfucking _gross_ is what it sounds like. But a guy needs energy if he’s to keep running away and being _on_ the run.

You take out a tube of pringles, and notice they were open. You try one and gag. They _are_ stale, and _horribly so._ Combined with the fact that eating is hard and disgusting, and the result is that you honestly never want to eat again.

(There’s too many movements, and so much _touching_ , dear Messiahs, you’re going to be _Sick.)_

(This is _definitely_ torture.)

But, as that one movie song went: ‘ _Gotta eat to live_ ’

… 

‘ _Gotta steal to eat_ ’ is the very next line, but you’re not thinking about that part. Not thinking about it at all. Nope.

(No one will bail you out if you get caught, which you inevitably _will.)_

Maybe running away without a concept of survival whilst _on_ the run wasn’t a good idea after all. It might only be a matter of time until they find you, it’s inevitable.

There is no use in running, they _will_ find you first. Unless…

You beat them at their own game.

* * *

It’s been two weeks. You are a complete mess and categorically a cryptid. You haven’t showered at _all;_ you don’t want to be caught, _especially_ not when you’re in a state of vulnerability. Your shower schedule has gone AWOL because of this. You hope it can restore itself easily with a 3 hour reset. It usually happens like that so you’d be surprised if it didn’t. If it doesn’t reset, well, you guess you’re fucked. Maybe you’ll set a new record for longest shower. Your current record is 5 hours and 23 minutes, according to Meulin.

… You wonder how she is.

You’re hungry. You’re very hungry. Famished, to steal a word from the Troll-Tendo Barkbeasts game. You’ve been ignoring the feeling for a while since relearning to eat has NOT got any better, but right now your legs are wobbly and you feel dizzy. You swig some Faygo. You’ve been using it to restore your sugar reserves and to compensate for the lack of food. It may not be a good compensation, but it’s been working. You’ll know it will run out soon, though.

You need carbs. _Protein._ But you still refuse to eat.

You haven’t seen your Dancestor since you bumped into him running away too. You hope he’s doing better than you.

(He lived on Alternia. Despite his lack of any kind of functioning brain cell, he probably is doing a _hell of a lot_ better than you are. But you still worry. You can never not worry. You’ve become used to the feeling of constant nagging worry, it’s just who you are as a person.)

You were able to track the Game Players. That is, you discretely followed them because you were lonely. They have somehow created a little village of hives for themselves; close enough to not be lonely, but far enough away for everyone to have their own personal space.

It seems nice.

It would be easy to sneak back, to say, “Hey, I’m still alive! Did you miss me?” Then everyone would surround you and be happy you’re alive and not dead. It’s the most improbable thing you’ve thought of today, and you still can’t bring yourself to do such a thing.

They’re probably celebrating the fact you might be dead for real. Maybe they thought you didn’t come back after all, despite the notes you wrote to Mituna and Meulin.

You going back there is like asking for a swift but painful death. They probably have a “Kurloz Makara Must Die” club. You wouldn’t be surprised. You’d join it yourself but you don’t think they’d accept a member who’s named ‘Kurloz Makara’. You dig your hands in your pockets, sighing.

Huh? You feel something card-y. You pull it out.

Oh hey, you remember when you made this. During the game, you were given quests to help control your rage destruction powers, and save the planet from the evil denizen… or something. For some reason, this particular one involved making business cards. You didn’t bother to ask why.

You didn’t know you kept a couple.

You put them back in your pocket. You never know when you might need it.

 _God,_ you are hungry. Maybe the bread will help? Slow releasing carbohydrate, or something? You shrug and decide to eat a slice of the bread.

… Nnnnnnnope.

The bread did not help. The bread can go die. You throw up some more and only feel bile come up, burning the insides of your throat.

You officially hate it here.

* * *

A month has passed since you ran. It seems like the Game-Group have basically forgotten all about you. Good! You’ve finally gotten the hang of eating again, which is also good. You have actually survived quite well for a month and have gone unnoticed by anyone! Good!!!

Problem!

You’ve run out of edible food!!

Yaaaaaaaay.

Honk.

The Pringles are all gone, the bread is stale and mouldy, you’ve no Faygo left, and the flavoured water is sparkling. No one likes sparkling water. Especially not you.

So here you are.

Drastic times calls for drastic measures.

Gotta steal to eat.

But from what? From _who?_ You’re unsure if you’re capable of doing that.

You head for the Player’s village. You bump into Gamzee again along the way. He is holding a half eaten motherfucking _croissant._ You have no idea where or how he got it, but it’s yours now. You haven’t eaten anything proper for way longer than he has, you selfishly assume. You keep staring at it in hope that he offers you a bite.

He does.

One bite equals the rest of the croissant. He looks offended, and a little grossed out… and a tad impressed, too. Good. You did down the thing like how the Ocean Bird would, before chewing on it. You are the ocean bird. It is you. SeagullSprite would be proud. One day you will be able to inhale without chewing, God, what a field day that would be.

You nod to thank him for the food and flash step away before he can catch you.

You take refuge in a tree where you can overlook the entire neighbourhood. You stay here for approximately 6 hours. You glare at everyone you see, but they do not see you glare. You stay very quiet. You thought you saw someone notice you, but they were looking at the weird looking wingbeast in the next tree. At least you think they were. They probably were. You couldn’t tell, which is what put you on edge.

It was sunny when you climbed into the tree. It’s a thundery, wet night when you climb out of the tree and flash step into some bushes closer to the hives. There’s one hive quite close to you - opposite where you’re positioned, in fact. You move closer towards it, and check the door.

Messiahs on high, the fucker opened.

You couldn’t live like that. Someone could come in randomly and kill you, or take all your food. Which is what you’re doing right now, taking all the food. You quietly close the door (And thank the Heavens, because the occupant doesn’t appear to be inside the hive), and flash step into a room. Ah, the Food Preparation Block, also known as a Kitchen by Pretentious Highbloods and highbloods that grew up in The Church Culling Circle (The latter is you).

… Why does someone need so many towels in a kitchen? You shrug, and grab one anyway, because you are soaked.

It’s when you’re rubbing your hair with the towel that you hear something. Some _one._ You begin to panic. You look to your right and find a door, and quickly flash step into it, shutting it just as the occupant of the hive enters the kitchen.

You don’t hear much movement for a while, so you continue to quietly panic and think that this is where you die.

Then you hear something click, before silence once more. Then a little bit of a louder silence as the occupant moves up the stairs again. You check the door.

…

_Who the fuck locks the door to a room inside their house but not the front door?_

Wait.

You’re locked in.

You’ve just been locked inside this room.

How are you going to survive without food?

Without _water?_

This is it. This is where you die. In a damp, dark room with concrete flooring (Not even _tile,_ actual _concrete,_ what the fuck), all by yourself, in someone else’s hive.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

You slide down the wall you’re leaning on in an attempt to begin crying, which is something you have only allowed yourself to do twice in your life. Your horn hits something on the way down. Ow. It felt like a bar… maybe it’s a shelf? You look over.

… Holy _fuck,_ you just got locked inside a _food storage block._ You cry for real this time, but the emotions it brings is entirely different, so you’re not counting it as crying. There is simply something in your eye. That something being happiness.

There’s a sink in the corner, and what appears to be a spare miniature fridge next to it. You crawl towards it and open it.

Milk. “Bongpot,” You mumble.

…

You forgot you could talk, and now plan to never talk again after what the absolute fuck came out of your mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If you had access to a sewing kit you’d sew your mouth shut again ASAP.

Though, that doesn’t mean you _don’t_ take the milk from the fridge and drink it all.

Not in one go, of course. But it would get spoilt if left for too long.

Who knows when they’ll be back down to kick you the fuck out? Maybe kill you while they’re at it? You don’t know who could possibly live here. You rub the towel you still have on your hair again.

 _They’ll probably come down tomorrow or something, worry about it then._ _Just be glad you’ve somewhere indoors to sleep tonight._

You had forgotten how nice the indoors was. How safe it felt. The locked door means no one will peak on you (which relieves so much anxiety you forgot was even anxiety at this point), so you can happily rest without that particular worry.

You decaptchalog the jacket you have in your sylladex and wrap it around you as a makeshift blanket and roll up the towel as a makeshift pillow. You curl up in the corner and rest for a while.

Surprisingly, it’s the most restful nights’ sleep you’ve had since you arrived in this universe.

* * *

Four days.

You were stuck in that food cabinet for _four days._ You were living the high life!

(Unfortunately, with no weed or catnip available, you can’t actually _get_ high to live said high life. Truly sad.)

(There’s not even any Faygo here. Truly sad indeed.)

(Beggars can’t be choosers, but some beggars at least have _class.)_

Anyway, you and the unknowing occupant were living in a somewhat symbiotic relationship. They bought food, they had shelter, you ate food and stayed dry. Perfect!

Or it was, until you completely ballsed it up.

Okay, story time. If you have time to even get _into_ it.

So, you had expected to be caught and then promptly killed by the occupant when you woke up the morning you stayed on the first night. You were on edge all day, and thus only made quiet movements and ate only enough to get you by. But no such thing happened. You definitely  _heard_ the occupant; they shuffled around so quietly you could only barely tell they were _in._ You were lucky to escape into here if these sounds were their normal movements.

Either way, they never even came close to you. You didn’t even hear them use the oven. How do they _live,_ on dried ramen?

… Are you bunking with a stressed out Upper Schoolfeeding student? Who might be studying… Legeslaterrorism? Archidictatory? Cavalreapering? Medicullery? It certainly wasn’t Cullinary Arts, that you could figure out.

So, on Day One, you were on edge but nothing happened. You thought it was a fluke. Turns out, it wasn’t. On Day Two, you were still on guard but by Day Three even that had lowered slightly. Judging by the voices you heard, a troll with a voice that sounded _far too familiar,_ yet _distinctively_ _different_ (a domestic kitten’s mew versus a lion cub’s roar) met up with the occupant of the hive. This happened on the Third Day. You learnt it was currently either Wednesday or Saturday from a sentence that was uttered to the visitor afterwards. Barely heard, but growing louder as you heard them enter the kitchen area. “-F occasionally means ‘Every Wednesday and Saturday at 11 AM sharp’ then yes, I suppose you do visit occasionally.” This troll - you assume a troll anyway - had a quiet voice, soft yet deep. Oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place from where. Despite the glaringly obvious yet shockingly subtle sarcasm, the troll who spoke sounded fond.

It was the first time since you got trapped here that you heard the occupant’s voice, and you didn’t hear it that well. Only well enough to make an assumption of the troll’s intentions. The two soon moved upstairs and you continued to eat a packet of tortilla chips. They tasted like cheap Doritos.

You thought you were safe. You had it all somewhat perfect.

Then you fucked up.

On the Fourth Day, you slipped on a wet spot and fell face first into a shelf. You thankfully stopped the entire shelf from falling. It was then that a box of cereal (if you can class _“Bran Flakes”_ as a _cereal)_ fell. It fell with a loud thud. You jolted. You stared at the box for a moment or 3. It was when your keen hearing focused in on some movement outside the room that you realised you fucked up.

The occupant had heard that.

You’re going to die.

You hear something break quite close to the door. Of course, you panic. You decide to dart into one of the darkest corners of the room, hoping to find comfort in the shadows.

You hear a click. This is it. This is your death.

The door opens.

… Is that a Zahhak? You squint. It motherfucking is. You’re even _more_ fucked. The small Zahhak (you… think? He only has one horn so you _Think_ it’s the Alternian one because Horuss has both intact last you checked) looks around. In your panic, which is thankfully not panic-attack related, you notice that you’re leaking chucklevoodoos. You try to reign them in the best you can, but manipulating fear comes as naturally as breathing; they’re even harder to wrangle because you can _tell_ he’s scared, you _feel_ his fear.

Though… who _wouldn’t_ be scared? You can see his reasoning.

You finally come up with an idea to get him out of the room. You will weed into his pan using your ‘voodoos, proceed to puppet him out of the room, and make him forget the situation happened. You’ve been able to do similar things before, so it should be easy to do right now, even while you’re panicking.

So you try it.

Unfortunately, it isn’t as easy as you had thought. In fact, it’s impossible. Why?

Well, for starters, this plan requires getting into his pan, and you _can’t get into his MOTHERFUCKING PAN._ The small Zahhak’s fears come off as a miasma around him, it radiates off his aura. You can easily pick up on that, it’s pretty easy to manipulate that, even when you’re panicking a little bit (but not too much).

But his pan? His _mind?_ It’s inaccessible. It’s like a semblance of a “mind” doesn’t _exist_ up there. It’s like there’s _something_ protecting it, but you can’t see _what’s_ protecting it, because it looks like nothing is even _there_ … Unless he just doesn’t have a pan _to_ manipulate. But you don’t think that’s even possible, no one is that much of an airhead to avoid the ‘Voodoos. It’s more likely that some kind of… _thing,_ is protecting his pan. Or something.

… God, you hope that’s the case.

You discreetly check your strife specibus and uncaptchalog a plastic club. You always have a plan B. In this case, Plan B is being made up on the fly. Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.

You sneak up on him as he’s mumbling to a cereal box. He’s about to turn around; maybe he’s going to leave - maybe you could have gotten away with hiding but you fucked up _again!_ You can’t be seen like this. You swiftly bonk him very hard on the head with your soft plastic club. It has a rounded dent in it now. You place it back in your strife deck.

The Zahhak - who isn’t actually that small, he’s only just shy of your own height, and he _is_ Horuss’ Alternian counterpart… or should you say _canterpart?_ Haha, puns - gets knocked out almost instantly. That might have been because of the chucklevoodoos you were radiating. Might have got too much fear manipulation in the outskirts of his pan.

If you could get into his pan in full, it might have not been such a big deal.

You hate not being able to do something you usually can do with ease. You hate it _a lot._

Either way, you catch Zahhak before he falls flat on his face on the concrete floor, because you don’t want him to break his face or something. Or the floor. You never know with Zahhaks. You carefully carry him outside the block. Ouch. You put him down and roll your shoulders, and rub your back. Your arms, shoulders, and back _ache._ Just because you _can_ physically carry a Zahhak doesn’t mean you _should._ Also, the light out here is very, very bright. Ow.

You escape into your respi-Uh. The food storage block.

You thought it would work, but it didn’t. You hid to the left of the door, practically behind it, hoping the darkness will cover you. It didn’t. In your stress, you’re still absently leaking chucklevoodoos that you can’t seem to rein in. You hope they prevent him from entering.

Of course, as with everything you hope for, it fails. The occu-Zahhak bashed the door open, only narrowly missing your _face_ , and…

Well.

You watch him miss the only step down into the block and fall flat on his face. There are actual cracks on the floor from his fall. _Cracks._ On the _motherfucking concrete floor. He actually broke the floor._ You hate to admit the fact that you’re impressed at the sight. You also struggle to suppress a chuckle. He groans. You stay quiet behind the door. Maybe- Never mind there’s no use in false hope. He gets back up relatively quickly and moves around. Surprisingly, his face isn’t broken at all from the fall.

He clears his throat, and you can feel his fear. It feels bigger than it was before. It’s hard not to latch onto it. He finally speaks and it’s barely a mumble at first, “Wh,” He clears his throat once more. “Whoever and wherever you are, you sssshould get out of my pantry this instant,” You watch him take a breath, maybe trying to keep his cool? “This is. This is not yours and I will. I will not be barred from my own space!” This is the first time you’ve heard his voice clearly, you realise. He has a nice voice, even under fear. He brings his fists closer to his face, and oh, he looks really cute like that.

He’s absolutely terrified.

He still weakly yells that he means what he (just barely) said. It’s just enough that you have to put him out of his misery.

You enjoyed it here while it lasted, might as well get on with the inevitable “Death” part. You move a little closer to the light, and by the change in his body language (Still terrified, but notably more protective) you can tell he sees you. You fight the urge to wave. You just hope your sadness about leaving the only somewhat stable home you’ve had since… uh, for a while, isn’t showing too visibly on your face.

Fuck. With those glasses, you can’t tell where he’s looking; you think that’s a Thing with Zahhaks. Eye contact is the enemy but so is people reading them easily. You can only hope that the darkness covers most of what you look like. You can bet it’s a mess. A complete and utter state. One hundred percent.

Motherfuck, now you’re measuring things in percentage.

Either way, you are _not_ talking. Not since the Bongpot fiasco. Somehow, he gets this message. You don’t know how, but you are thanking every God there is that he does.

He opens his mouth to speak. “Are you-Are you a ghost?”

…

_Good fucking Lord, he really_ **_is_ ** _an airhead. He thinks you’re a fucking_ **_ghost._ **

You have half a mind to say yes. It’s the look of pure disgust that he actually _asked_ the question that makes you decide against it. Not as much of an airhead as you thought, then. That doesn’t mean you’ll be nice with him.

Just means you’ll stare at him like he’s an idiot for thinking that- Oh God, that made the look get _worse._ You slowly shake your head.

“Okay. Not a ghost, got it,” He’s mumbling now, you can barely hear him. It’s like he’s trying to keep _you_ calm. You’re the destroyer of Rage, you’re always calm. Except when you’re not. Which is like, never. You swear.

(Liar.)

He seems to be thinking. Maybe this is going to be a game of 20 questions: Yes-No edition. You’re just glad he’s not asking for your verbal input. It’s honestly relieving.

“Are you a Makara?”

**_Fuck._ **

You shuffle a little. You’ve been found out. The Cryptid has been spotted. This is the end for you. Might as well accept it. You give a very, _very_ small nod. You hope he caught it.

“Okay, Makara. Got it,” He seemed to give an awkward semi smile. Huh? He has not attempted to attack you and/or kill you. Double Huh?? He looks up at you again. “Are you a boy?” What kind of qu- Well, you suppose it’s a valid query. “Oh!” He adds, “If neigh- Uhm. If Neither, just,” He places his hand straight and tilts it from one side to the other, classic ‘eh’ sign. “Make the so-so sign with your hand.”

This makes you smile a little. He doesn’t want to misgender you. That’s the sweetest thing. You nod.

“Okay, so. You’re a boy,” He mumbles to himself, before looking at you again. You nod again for clarification.

He’s still staring at you. _Studying_ you. Trying to figure your intentions, you guess.

“Which Highblood are you?” He asks.

Wait, what? Why does he care??

Wait, _fuck._ Alternian Hemospectrum politics.

Horuss mentioned something about this before (Kankri mentioned it too, but Horuss is easier to listen to), something about Purples being like, the bridge between war of land dwellers and sea dwellers…? Either way, the Blues bow to the purples. Always have, always will. It’s the way of life on Alternia.

He’s staring at you. Intently. You can tell. You are about to open your mouth to speak, despite telling yourself you wouldn’t, but he speaks up before you can even make the motion. “I mean. Are. Are you… Uhh-” He’s staring at you, probably actively realising how long he’s keeping that ‘Uh’ going. It’s going forever, this one!

…

Wait.

_Wait._

He doesn’t know your name.

_Holy fuck, he doesn’t know your name!!_

… Oh so _that’s_ what he asked which Makara you were, in his weird Zahhak way. Because he doesn’t know your motherfucking name. Nothing to do with stupid hemospectrum politics, just a guy wondering what to call you.

“Are you the h-Gamzee? Are you _Gamzee?”_ He’s panicking, you can tell, “I don’t think you are, but I cannot remember his alternates name-” Holy shit, you hit the _Bongpot._ Goddamnit, ‘Bongpot’s’ back. “I’m ever so sorry for my crass mistake of not noting down the names of b-both highbloods, really, I should have-” Oh God, this is a babble and a _HALF._ You cut him off mid babble by shaking your head. Save your ears, Shut up a horse.

You sign out your name. He stares at it. You try spelling it out. He still stares at it. For fucks sake. You sigh. There’s no notepad, no whiteboard, no _phone._ How the fuck are you going to get through to him that you are Kurloz Makara without speaking? If only you had something with your name on it.

Wait. You put your hand in your pocket and find the business cards. Holy fuck, you _knew_ these would be useful one day. You take one out and slide one over to him.

(Despite the fact you have yet to know the little Zahhak’s name.)

He picks up the card and honestly looks exasperated by it. Huh. You didn’t mean to be pretentious but you suppose it just happened. “So,” He mumbles, still looking at the card, “Kurloz is your name, huh?” He asks. You nod. He looks up at you.

“What are you doing in my pantry?”

You shrug. You don’t know how to explain - He can’t understand sign language and you doubt he’s any good at Charades. You notice him sigh when you shrug. He picks up the _Bran Flakes._ He is staring deadpan at you. You… think?

Either way, this is when you die…?

By… being beaten to death with _Bran Flakes…?_

Something is wrong here.

You can feel it.

Is it karma for calling _Bran Flakes_ ‘barely a cereal’? No, it’s still not right. It’s… not the right _mood???_

“Don’t consume all of my food,” He says. He makes his way out with the _Bran Flakes_ in tow. You blink in shock.

What?

_WhAT???_

You hear the door lock behind you. Is that it?

Is that… _it?????_

Where was the fight?? The inevitable death scene??

You spin around in a mild panic when you hear it unlock again. Maybe he’s gonna kill you now, maybe he just went for a weapon, that makes a hell of a lot more sense now-

His head pops out from around the door. He asks, “Would you like the door locked? If you don’t I can alw-” You cut him off by nodding. Yes, you want the door locked. Of course you want it locked. Who _doesn’t_ want a door locked?? _‘I’m having a crisis here over the fact that you’re_ not _attempting to kill me,_ please _lock the door!!’_ You scream inside your own head. He nods and locks the door again, leaving you be.

…

That was.

_Anticlimactic._

You’re sort of at a loss of what to do with yourself.

You suppose you motherfucking live here now.

_Damn._

You spend the rest of the day waiting for the other shoe to drop, only you have a feeling that shoe isn’t even there anymore.

* * *

So, it’s been a week since you were caught in the food storage block and things have been pretty swell. You think.

You’re not sure if he likes you.

You think he’s expecting something from you, but you have no idea what.

Even though you rarely leave the “pantry”, as he calls it - he gave you a key, a _key_ \- you _have_ noticed how the smaller Zahhak lives. You… still don’t know his name. Anyway, he doesn’t seem to clean, but when he does, it’s very… menial. It’s, say, doing the dishes, but leaving the kitchen a mess. It’s doing the laundry, but not ironing them or putting them away. You think he might have depression. He also has some form of organisation, you just can’t for the life of you figure it out.

Well, you can’t live like this anymore. You can’t! Watching this place go into the dumps is _physically hurting you._ Legit pain is felt when you look out at that kitchen, at _everything._

That’s it. You’re going to deep-clean this hive even if it FUCKING kills you. You have to. It’s messing with your system.

Of course, you start with your bl- the food storage block. You fold the blanket and pillow he gave you into a neat pile (Pillow on top because That’s How It’s Done) and whip out the good ol’ sweeping broom.

While you’re in the middle of cleaning, he walks into the block unannounced. He seemed to be asking a question but you weren’t focused on what the question was. He stares at you, before asking a new question.

“Are. Are you cleaning my pantry?” He asks. It seems he’s a lot more coherent in his sentences when he’s not shaking in fear.

You nod in reply to his question.

“Oh,” He seems… shocked? He certainly looks it. You note his lack of glasses and he really _is_ easier to read without them. He shuffles a little. Aww, he’s as awkward as Horuss sometimes. You can feel him radiating a little fear, before fighting it. You wonder why-

“Can you clean my kitchen, too?” Well, yeah, that was the plan- “I don’t mean to sound rude, but it is a state and I know I should be the one to do it, but-” Oh, he’s babbling again, “-It is completely rude and uncalled for to ask someone to do that, especially someone of your-” You cut him off before he can reach his ‘you’re a highblood, I’m not supposed to tell you what to do’ spiel by moving closer (he doesn’t notice??) and placing a finger on his lips in a ‘shh, listening time’ way. He makes a sound which is a mixture of a neigh and the word ‘Meep.’ You’re impressed. You nod to say you’ll do it before moving away. You offer a smile.

You hope that wasn’t too weird.

He looks a little bashful, and you assume he’s about to leave - he doesn’t normally stay around to make conversation, which you know is a typical Zahhak trait - before he asks if you like cleaning. You just barely heard the question. Why is he so quiet? Speak up, boi.

You shrug before nodding. He mumbles a quiet ‘oh,’ before continuing, “I have… mixed feelings about it.”

You look up at him. You hope your deadpan stare reads correctly. ‘Ya think I didn’t notice?’ Is what you’re aiming for, though derivatives meaning the same sentiment are also accepted. You hold that stare long enough for him to read before continuing to sweep up the floor. He’s still here for some reason. Watching. He’s unarmed, but Zahhaks are notoriously strong even without weapons. Especially without weapons. It’s their Thing.

What does he _want?_

… Maybe he just likes quiet company? You kind of wish he’d ask you first.

You look up at him, hopefully to ask why he’s still there. He blinks, obviously confused, before the gears turn and he looks down to the floor. Damn, that look is so sad. Why is this boy so damn depressed? Fuck, bro.

He mumbles an apology and you blink. Wh-Why did he…? You shrug it off, hoping for some kind of explanation as to _‘if you just want my company, why don’t you just say so?’_

But nothing of the sort came. What came instead was a very, _very_ quiet ‘bye’ before he shot off out. Kid’s quieter than Horuss. That’s an achievement and a half, everyone knows how quiet _he_ is. It’s the reason why he’s so fucking creepy. Why you’re kind of drawn to the creepiness.

It’s captivating.

You want to know more.

(At least you did, before all that drama. Before you all died. Before his relationship with your ex. Before you both ‘officially’ met. Before… well, everything.)

But first! Cleaning. There is so cleaning to be done. He left the door open, so you escape into the kitchen to hopefully scavenge some cleaning supplies. Bleh, it’s so _dusty._

We’re doing it. We’re making this _happen._

* * *

You “accidentally” do more than you were asked to do. That is, you got in such a rhythm that you deep-cleaned the entire pantry and kitchen area, as well as the living block and entrance hallways. You couldn’t find the vacuum, but once you do it will be finished.

Then the upstairs needs doing.

It’s been about… 3 hours? What is that guy doing? Sleeping? You need to get the vacuum!! _You need the vacuum, but don’t know where it is, because technically, this isn’t your hive!!!!_

Bleach relaxes you. Cleaning in general relaxes you, but the smell of bleach is what relaxes you the most. Bleach Smell means it’s clean. Nothing can damage it. You scrub the kitchen work surfaces again with bleach to calm yourself down.

On a whim, you check the cupboards for food and find that the Zahhak is a vegetarian, but still eats fairly unhealthily from the looks of it. Which is shocking, because he’s a _vegetarian._ Isn’t that kind of thing got that whole ‘Vegetarianism is healthier’ shtick or something? Maybe it’s a texture thing for him, like it is with Horuss.

You know a lot about Horuss, considering the fact that he’s a Page of Motherfucking Void, but what can you say? He was easier to talk to than most other people, and he knows a hell of a lot more about you than he lets on to the others (which scares you a little, so you try not to think about it too much). If you had a mobile device you’d text him, but you doubt he’d reply. Might as well leave him be. It’s not like he’s gonna message _you,_ anyway.

What would you message him, even? ‘HI, HOW ARE YOU? I’M NOT DEAD BY THE WAY!’? It’s… not very motherfucking wise of a motherfucker. You wouldn’t know what to say. So you might as well not say anything at all and just hope you’re not too late. And on that note, you know you _will_ be too late, that’s what happens when you hope for things. It’s always too late.

Rage is the antithesis of Hope, after all.

But never mind that.

You scrub the surfaces for the 4th time today. Wow, you never realised how stressed you were until you started cleaning.

You really need that vacuum.

Maybe you can just… ask the little Zahhak?

Yeah! Just waltz right into his room and try to mime to his language-illiterate face that you need the vacuum because _he probably thinks you can’t talk._ Perfect idea, Kurloz. You should do that right now.

You feel yourself move before you actually comprehend moving and you have to stop yourself for a second.

Okay. Breathe. In, and out. Iiiin, and Out. Okay, you’re chilled, and you shall now go up the stairs and see where Zahhak actually _is._

… What if he’s in his respiteblock, can you disturb him? You hate being disturbed. Maybe if you’re quiet…?

You make a semblance of a plan as you ascend the stairs towards his respiteblock, if he’s even in there, just to peek your nose in. You search for anything which could symbolise his ‘block. You look up at the wall- Oh hey, you think Horuss has that piece of art. You walk across the landing and notice a door which looked slightly different from the other doors. Meaning, it looked more well-used. You carefully turn the nob and peek in.

Oh, he really is asleep. He looks exhausted, even while sleeping. You silently leave and shut the door.

Well you can’t disturb his sleep, and you can’t vacuum either. So you do the next best thing: _Polishing._ You do so much polishing. We gon’ make this hive motherfucking _shine._ You decide to deep clean the upstairs. Mainly the landing area, polishing everything on display, and the wooden banister. This place is so dusty, motherfuck, when was the last time he even dusted??

Well, if he ain’t gon’ do it, you gotta do it for him.

Until you get caught with your hand in the metaphorical cookie jar.

You didn’t notice him even _move_ until you heard the creek of the door opening (write that on the metaphorical list for fixing) an hour or so later. You’re just glad you didn’t visibly jump at the shock he gave you because _oh Messiahs, you just had a mini heart attack._ You blink.

He stays quiet, staring at you. He seems a little shocked. Like… he didn’t expect you to go through with it? To go above and beyond what was asked??

… Maybe he’s just shocked that you actually like cleaning things. You wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.

You see him glance down at the hallway, and you… feel a little smug, honestly. You like your work appreciated.

He blinks, flabbergasted. You blink in return.

“Uh.”

That is the first and only thing to come out of his mouth for at least 5 minutes. He is that shocked. You are inwardly proud of yourself. It’s not even your best work and yet here we are.

… What if he asks you to leave because you cleaned his hive?

_What, no that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard. Fuck off and get fucked, Self Doubt._

… What if he wanted it _cleaner??_ What if he puts you on the streets because it’s not up to the correct standards of clean??

 _The hive was a mess anyway, he probably doesn’t_ have _those kinds of standards. Make like a tree and kindly leave, Self Doubt._

… God, you hope he doesn’t kick you out of the only stable home you’ve had for a while because you didn’t follow the orders in the correct manner they were assigned to you.

 _Why_ would _he?? He’s a Zahhak, they_ love _orders!!_ **_Go_** **AWAY,** ** _SELF DOUBT!!_ **

Of course this is a never-ending seesaw argument involving you yelling at your Self Doubt and him yelling back until one of you wins. Usually Self Doubt wins. The Zahhak cuts your internal argument short.

“You cleaned my hive?” Oh thank God, he sounds the good kind of shocked. Fuck you, Self Doubt, you _win._ You nod. Yes, you did.

“Entirely?” He asks. Oh. Tough question-WAIT, YOU CAN ASK FOR THE VACUUM NOW! You make the so-so sign, before a slight nod. He blinks in understanding. Finally!! You are getting _through to him!!_

“Do you require assistance?” _Halle-motherfucking-lujah._ You just hope your nod wasn’t too eager looking. “What is it you require?” He asks.

Fuck, you didn’t think this through.

You go through with the first plan you had - to mime out a vacuum cleaner motion. Your original theory was right, this boy is TERRIBLE at charades.

“A… broom? No wait, that’s not right, you know where that is. Oh, Oh! A scooter… no, wrong motion… This is hard!” He crosses his arms, thinking, and you are slowly becoming more done by the second. “A shuffleboard tang? No? Oh, hmm… Aha!! I got it!!!”

You momentarily perk up at this, maybe he’s not as bad as you thought- “A curling stick.” He says triumphantly, placing his fist in his hand like he just cracked the code.

You barely hold in the impulse to throw yourself over the railing. Obviously, this sentiment must have shown on your face because he looks mortified. Oh no, he looks like he’s going to break down.

“This is hopeless, honestly I _knew_ there were two Highbloods now, and I _knew_ one of them didn’t talk, and I know my guessing skills are absolutely _dire,_ so I _knew_ I should have brushed up on them! It should have been at the top of my list of things to get better at considering the situation, _especially_ your situation-” And he’s back on another highblood-serving babble. You’re not even that bothered. That’s a lie, you are, but like, you can deal, you’re used to it. Him? He is not dealing. He is not dealing at all. You don’t need this babble! You don’t want to _hear_ this babble!!

You growl, “I don’t give a single damn iota of a motherfuck about that, all I be all asking is for a _motherfucking VACUUM!”_

“Wh. _WHAT??”_ He sounds startled.

…

OH, **_FUCK._ **

You cover your mouth in shock. In your rage, you… actually spoke words. He really _is_ going to kick you out now. That’s it for you. He’s… staring at you. Intensely. It’s terrifying. You’re toast. You attempt to explain yourself, hoping to salvage some sort of hope that he _won’t_ inevitably kick you out. You do this with… more words.

“It. It was the vacuum cleaner. I… don’t know where it is.” You mumble, “I-ah, I need it.”

“Oh.” He says, and you shuffle on your feet for a few minutes. Your anxiety rises further until he speaks again, “Well, okay then. Follow me.”

You nod, and follow him all the way to a wall… apparently this wall has a door you didn’t know was there. Inside the door contained a cupboard full of cleaning products you swear have never been used before- Wait, the handle of the vacuum cleaner has some Zahhak-Related hand indents on it. So he _has_ used it, just not _recently._ You estimate he’s only used this thing once in his life. There’s other things in here, too. Things that you would have probably abused during your cleaning spree had you known they were there in the first place. He even has unopened window cleaner. What you don’t understand is _why is it so fucking_ **_DUSTY_ ** _IN HERE????_

You fail to suppress a twitch. You. You need to. Clean. How can he live knowing that his hive is a complete ghost-hive? It’s a _mess,_ dear Messiahs, what are you going to do to _fix this???_ You carefully pick up the Vacuum. Well, if you’re going to fix it, it might as well start with the vacuum, the thing you needed anyway. You nod in thanks, hoping that he wouldn’t make you speak again. Not that he did before, you just don’t _want_ to speak again right now. Or ever again. To anyone. You’re worried your throat will tear itself up if you did. He accepts the thanks. Good. You carry the contraption down the stairs.

You fail to find a power outlet in good time, but you find one eventually. Then you decide to vacuum. You feel him watching you, but he doesn’t seem to want to leave this time. So, he’s getting braver then. More curious now. You don’t look back at him, and pretend you don’t notice. Which is hard because you tend to notice when people are watching you. At least he’s not breathing down your back. That’s a relief.

You finish vacuuming the downstairs area in what feels like no time at all. You don’t know how long exactly, but you don’t care because it _sparkles_ and is _good._ You carry the contraption up the stairs to begin vacuuming but he stops you. He’s. Staring at you. Again. What did you do wrong?

“Shower.”

What?

… _Oh._

You blink. You had hoped you didn’t look _that_ bad but apparently you do. Why is he telling you this now? Could he not tell?

Maybe it was because you don’t have a light source in your res- uh, the room where you sleep.

… But.

But these are the only clothes you _have._ It’s a waste of time _cleaning_ yourself then putting on _dirty clothes_ , that makes no sense!!

You pull at your clothes and look at him questioningly.

“Are they the only clothes you own?” He asks. You nod. “Oh. You’ve been wearing them for a while, then,” He mumbles, and you nod again, confirming it.

“How about this,” He propositions, “I’ll get you a clean towel, and I’ll find some spare clothes of mine that you can borrow; I probably have some somewhere,” He walks away then, and leaves you standing in the hallway for like, 15 minutes. You await his arrival because once you start vacuuming you won’t stop until it is done, so you decide in this case it’s safer to not start yet. Even if you _desperately want to._

He comes back to you with the fluffiest towel you’ve ever seen, a pair of brand new shorts and a black hoodie, which seems really comfy. You accept the clothes, and follow him into his bathroom.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t know that the only time you can shower is when everything is able to be locked - no one can catch you in a vulnerable position such as that, after all - and when it’s been cleaned to your standards. Which only you have.

Long complicated story short, you clean the bathroom until it is _sparkling._ You check the locks exactly 4 times. And then a 5th, just to be sure. You notice that some of the clothes had been crinkled and sigh, before asking out loud for an iron. Well, more like mumbling out loud, but it’s the same thing really.

“No.”

… “Wh-” Fuck, your throat is DYING. You spent 4 minutes coughing, before starting again. “Whut.” How can he _not_ give you an _iron??_ “Please tell me you own one.”

“It’s broken, I-”

“Give.”

“Fine.” He escapes once more, and you check the lock on the door a 6th time. And the window lock a 6th time. You can never be too sure. You unlock it before he gets back.

You stare at the… _thing_ he’s holding.

“… What. The fuck. Is _that?”_ Your disbelief feels like it fills your entire body. How is that thing a functioning thing? What the fuck _is it???_

“It’s the closest thing to an iron I own,”

The poor machine is breaking apart. This obviously means that he _uses_ it, but hasn’t bothered to get a new one. That is such a hazard that you wonder how he hasn’t _died_ yet. But, if it’s the only thing you have, ironed clothes are better than crinkled ones.

“Ironing board.” You mumble.

“What’s that now?” He asks.

“I need an ironing board.” You elaborate. He blinks.

“I…? Don’t think I own that…”

“Do you not-” You glare at him, but stop yourself mid sentence. He. He doesn’t know what one is. How does he _not??_ This. This man is an _enigma._ An enigma wrapped in deep-fried depression, dipped in social anxiety, and sprinkled with a dash of hemoism.

Either that, or you’re just hungry.

You make him promise to get a new iron _with_ an ironing board before you shower. Eventually, after heavy negotiations and one case of him having to actually explain that he has no idea what he’s looking for later, he agrees. You nod, sealing the deal, and walk into the now-perfectly clean bathroom. _Heaven._

… You have to ask him how the shower system works because you spend 5 minutes just staring at it. You have _no idea_ where the power button is. He shows you everything, and you think he’s trying to show you _more,_ but you attempt to mime at him to kindly leave because ‘Hey, guy needs privacy?’

He still doesn’t get sign language, or anything akin to it. You don’t know why you bother trying. You have to usher the poor kid out. “Oh. My apologies.” He mumbles. You nod, and lock the door. You walk into the shower block, and switch it on so it can warm up. Then you methodically take your clothing off and place them on the floor (the dry part) so you can throw them in the laundry basket later.

You step into what is probably the best shower you’ve had yet.

 

Although.

You don’t _know_ how long you showered for. You didn’t think it was long. At least, it didn’t _feel_ long. All you knew is that you haven’t showered in a long time, and you didn’t want to _leave the goddamn motherfucking holiness that is that goddamn motherfucking holy shower._

But you did in the end. You got out, wrapped the fluffiest towel ever around yourself and dried off. You get dressed, and notice that the hoodie is on the larger side even for you. It has a True Sagittarius sign on it. Ehehe, honk. It’s like some kind of quadrant-mate sweater. You blush and decide not to think about that again. (It won’t ever happen. You’re far taller than him, anyway. The only other option is something far cuter yet you don’t want to think about _that,_ either.) You look up in the mirror.

You need to reapply your paint. Also you are covered in cuts and grazes? You don’t remember getting them. At least, most of the newer looking ones.

You spend another 15 minutes reapplying your paint. Feels good to do that, good thing you’ve got your paints on hand all the time. You’ve gotten quicker and quicker at applying it, but you’ve stagnated at 15 minutes because any faster makes it sloppy and any slower wastes valuable time.

You finish it in good time and unlock the door, opening it and walking out of the bathroom.

… He waited for you. Oh Messiahs, he really _shouldn’t have._ You haven’t a clue what day it is, you just know that you shower for a long time- oh _fuck, he doesn’t know that._ He looks _pissed._

**_Fuck._ **

“Do you know how long you showered for?” He asks, stern.

_He’s going to kick you out he’s going to kick you out he’s going to kick you out he’s going to kick you out-_

You shrug.

He breathes in, like he’s about to yell **_‘BOI’_**. “You showered. For 6 hours-” Wait-

“That’s a new record,” You blurt out.

 _“Don’t interrupt me.”_ You close your mouth. “You showered for 6 hours and _23 minutes_.” _NEW RECORD!!!!_ He begins to pace, and you watch him, “Kurloz Makara, were you dissociating in the shower? Do you know what time it is? Do you _realise_ that the entire player’s village has probably ran out of hot water and it’s all your fault? But really it’s _my_ fault because I’m the one who made you shower in the _first place,_ good grief, Roxy is going to kill me,”

… Oh. You had no idea.

“‘m sorry.”

“Shut up, it’s not your fault. I should have asked how long you shower for,” He sighs.

You still feel like shit though.

“I like my showers.” You explain, and then cough for 3 more minutes. “Spend most my time there. Wasn’t dissociating. Didn’t know you had a hot water limit. Y’all shouldn’t’ve waited.”

“… Shouldn’t’ve?” He looks at you fully now. Is. Is that the start of a _smirk?_

“Yeah, shouldn’t’ve. Like Y’all’d’ve,” You explain. He looks like he’s about to burst into a fit of giggles.

“Like ‘Y’ain’t’?” There it is. There’s the giggles. The Prince of Rage strikes again, destroying the Rage of everything in its path. “I cannot seem to stay mad at you, Kurloz. Would you like something to eat?” He asks.

You think about it, and glance over at the vacuum on the stairs. He hasn’t moved it. You look back at him.

“Sure.” Your answer shocks you. He looks shocked, too. You think he expected you to say ‘Nah, I’ll finish cleaning up’, but hey, you’re pretty hungry. It must be something about him that makes you forget all about your worries and focus more about what matters. Like food. You like that. You like that a lot.

You follow him down the stairs and into the kitchen. He grabs a notebook along the way, and you smile. He’s thoughtful. He gives you the notebook and a pen. Heh, it’s even purple.

“What would you like? I have noodles,”

THAT’S LITERALLY **ALL** YOU HAVE.

You want to teach him how to sign. You’re desperate to. If he’s- If you’re going to actually _live_ here, you need to teach him. He shrugs.

“Yes, I know that’s all I have. I… I don’t cook much,”

I CAN TELL.

“Don’t judge me. I used to be really good at cooking. I just… don’t,” He argues. You’re not gonna fight that. He seems… pretty upset actually, fuck.

YOU OKAY?

“I’m fine.” He mumbles. You nod. If he says so.

DO YOU WANT ME TO MAKE SOMETHING? I DON’T MIND.

“No, I’ll. I will… I’d like that,” He relents, and you grin. You put the notebook on the table so you can take out a bunch of food stuffs. You ‘bout to cook some mother fucking FOOD.

* * *

You had just finished your dinner when he speaks up again. He had finished before you, and had started to text on his phone. You didn’t mind. Had you had a phone, you’d be doing the same.

“I have some news you may dislike,” He says, and you make a acknowledging sound. He’s not looking at you. Then he does, and moves his gaze back towards his lap. “My moirail, she’s decided to come over. She’ll be here any minute.”

… It takes a moment to process.

You take the notepad and escape into your-the food storage block, locking the door. You hear him walk over, and half expect him to barge the door down. But he doesn’t.

“I want you to meet her,” You hear him say, and you don’t want to strain your already strained voice. You write a note instead.

I DON’T WANT TO.

You slide it under the door. He writes one back, underneath yours. It actually surprises you. You didn’t expect that.

D --> You can’t hide in here forever

… His handwriting sucks. You tell him this. You carefully cross out the use of “motherfuck” because you know Zahhaks hate swears.

D --> I know

I’M JUST SAYING, YOU NEED SOME SERIOUS HANDWRITING LESSONS. LIKE, ~~BITC~~ I CAN’T READ THIS CRAP.

D --> You seem to be reading it well enough, considering you’re replying to it

I MEAN TRUE, BUT. BRO. WHY THE FUCK IS YOUR WRITING SO BAD?

D --> It’s not that bad, I’ve seen worse

REALLY?? WHO?

D --> Horuss’ handwriting is far worse than mine

OKAY, FAIR ENOUGH.

You hear the muffled sound of a voice you heard a week or so ago (the lion cub is _back),_ and another note is slipped to you. 

D --> She’s here now, w001d you like to meet her?

Honest answer? No. Logical answer? You’ll have to sooner or later.

NO.

That’s all you send back. He seems to accept that response. You unlock the door. Just in case something terrible happens. That and you’re… unusually curious. You really should know better.

The cub mentions how clean the hive is, and you feel fuzzy. You like your work appreciated.

The little Zahhak asks if she would like some tea, and the cub says she’ll make it for him. That’s… really sweet of her; they must be really good moirails. (Better than you’ll ever be). He tells her to wait before she prepares it so he can ask his … _roommate????_ He has a roommate? You’ve never met him, if he does.

You hear the lion cub ask, “Why are you heading towards the food storage block?”

“He’s shy,” Zahhak Junior says.

A note slides under the door.

… _You’re_ the roommate??????? Nah, that’s impossible.

D --> W001d you like some tea?

… That would be nice. You give a solid ‘Maybe’ in response and ask for a specific tea. Chamomile. It reminds you of-

Never mind.

He expected boiled Faygo from you. You said ‘You don’t even have any Faygo’, or something of the like.

D --> Good point

You hear him tell the cub you want chamomile.

“So what, did you just decide to give him your pantry as his new respiteblock?” You hear her say. Zahhak responds by saying you like it in here. Which… yeah you kind of do.

Then you hear the lion cub say, “Instead of, say, one of the _many_ empty rooms in your hive?” And you stop.

…

Does.

Does she want you to stay here too? Does she know who you are? Zahhak has **_multiple_** _empty rooms???_ Do they need _cleaning???_

Obviously, he didn’t know this either. She accused him of forgetting about them, and was proven right.

Huh.

So there’s a possibility of you getting a genuine article respite block.

That’s… one of the nicest thing you’ve heard all day.

You jolt out of your thoughts at a knock to the door.

“Tea has been prepared.”

You pass along a note. You’re… still cautious to go out there.

PUT IT OUTSIDE THE DOOR.

D --> I’ll break the mug. Pick it up yourself

Oh, that sick, sly, son of a bitch.

OH, YOU SLY MOTHERFUCKER. YOU *PLANNED* THIS.

D --> Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t

YOU LITTLE BITCH.

D --> Language

You don’t pass a note after that. He walks away too, so it would be pretty pointless.

Instead of listening in on a private conversation between him and the lion cub, you decide to have an internal debate. You don’t want your tea to be cold, but going out might lead you to get killed. Or you might not get killed. Either way, if you take too long to decide your tea will get cold.

You feel like you’re in Troll Schrodinger’s food storage block, and you’re the cat that’s both dead and not.

You huff a sigh. If you flash step fast enough, you’ll be out and in without even spilling a single drop of your tea.

It’s the perfect plan.

… Or it would have been, had you factored in the fact that the lion cub has the reflexes of a motherfucking lion. Here you are, the goat prey to her lion predator.

She gets the jump on you.

Literally.

Because she jumps on you.

Just as you pick up your mug.

You, of course, fall backwards as she jumps on you, because momentum and gravity are also things you forgot to factor into your equation.

The point is, the tea was hot. Very hot. As hot as the fire where you hold all your irons. And like an ass, you _split_ it. Over both her and yourself.

You both scream in pain. It hurts a lot, _ow ow ow-_

You hear Zahhak say, “What have I told you about running with hot tea?”

_Absolutely fucking_ **_NOTHING,_ ** _YOU SMART ALEC!_

You take care as to not drop the mug that had the scalding hot tea inside it. You… feel kinda bad for causing this, so might as well salvage what you can, even if it’s simply not breaking the really cute mug. He comes back with a first aid kit, and picks up the lion cub and yourself off the floor and drags you both into sitting area you just cleaned. He applies… _something_ onto both of you, which cools down the pain of the tea.

You carefully put down the mug on a table when he leaves to grab his own tea. You look over and she isn’t looking at you. She notices you looking and turns around to glare. You look away, unfazed. Rude. She begins to growl, and you feel yourself tense up involuntarily.

The little Zahhak sighs as he returns into the room. He sits in front of you both, and turns to the lion cub. “Nepeta,” Oh, _that’s_ her name, “This is my new roommate-” Excuse me, _WHAT?_

He turns to you to say, “Kurloz, this is my moirail, Nepeta,”

You pointedly don’t look at her.

You hear him growl. “Would you both just grow up and actually _speak_ to each other??”

You stare at him. You left the notebook in the pantry.

“She can sign,”

You lower your stare to a glare. _Fuck._

The lion c- _Nepeta,_ speaks again. She asks him why is he keeping a Makara. Zahhak, despite not knowing your situation due to you not telling him the entire story (no story at all actually, you just shrugged), nails your reason almost perfectly.

_‘It’s not like you have anywhere else to go, you know. You’re stuck here until someone thinks you’re pitiable enough to cull.’_

You try not to adjust your posture too heavily.

He finishes talking, but you don’t know what he said due to being too lost in your own thoughts.

After a moment, he speaks again. “It’s true!” It sounds like he said something that she doesn’t believe. She looks at you, and -

“Did you actually clean his hive?” She signs (She _SIGNS)._ You can tell from the body language that she really _doesn’t believe wh-_ wait, is that what he said? Huh. You nod anyway.

“Damn straight I did, kitty sister,” You sign back, your own expression as sincere as you can get it. God, you’ve missed signing. “Not finished yet, but I’m gonna clean this dusty ass hive from top to bottom,”

… She actually believes you. Well, you weren’t lying, but you actually got her to believe you.

She looks back at her moirail, and asks about a shower.

“There’s no hot water,” Is the response, and you try to act like it _wasn’t_ your fault.

… Problem, you can’t whistle for your life, and now you look _more_ suspicious. Well done, bulgebite. She turns around to face you and your failed attempt(s) at whistling.

“Congratulations, jackass,” She says. You begrudgingly stop trying to whistle. She looks back at her moirail, “Look, I wanna talk to your new roommate privately, is that ok?” She asks. He nods.

“I don’t see why not,”

_Nooooooo-_

“Great!” She says.

_Zahhak no don’t leave me here, she’ll KILL ME-_

He says some lie about robots and leaves anyway. So this is your death then.

(‘Bout fucking time.)

It’s quiet for a moment or so, before she turns to you.

“So, what do you want with Equius?” She asks with words.

… Uh, who?

You sign that to her.

“Equius? You know, the guy who literally _just left the room?”_

You blink.

“His name is _Equius???”_ You. Had no idea. That his name was Equius. You’re so shocked you use the Beforan language to say it.

You both hear a loud thud, and another loud slam.

A moment after this happened, she speaks again. “He forgot to tell you his name, didn’t he?”

You shrug, and sign that it honestly never came up in conversation. You’ve just been nicknaming him in your head various iterations of ‘Little Zahhak’.

She signs that Horuss is shorter than him. You sign saying that you know.

“Now back to my original question,” Her fingers are sharp as she signs, you notice. Must be from her hunting. Nothing like Meulin. Meulin was always soft. Round. Fluffy. Fuzzy- “What do you want with Equius?”

“What do you mean?” You respond in kind, questioning tone laced in your body language because, uh, what?

“Surely you want something! No troll goes and hides in another trolls hive unless they have some kind of like, blackmail on the other and wants something done for them!”

“I just want a stable place to live… oh, and food,”

“What.”

You nod, and sigh. You stretch your fingers out, because you haven’t signed proper in a little while and this is a _long story._ “Look, he locked me in there by _accident._ I was in that place for four days until he found me. I was fully expecting to die while I was trapped. I was fully expecting death when he caught me. I’m still motherfucking shocked I ain’t got killed _now._ I don’t exactly _want_ to die, but that ain’t mean I wasn’t expecting it to happen. Been expecting getting kicked out too. I even expect it now, considering I _hurt_ _you._ Considering I used up all your motherfucking hot water. I got jack motherfucking shit to offer in return for a place to stay, not cash wise anyway. Cleaning his dusty ass hive was literally the _least_ I could do. Kid’s depressed as fuck, he sure as hell ain’t gonna do it soon.”

She nods along to your story. “But I know you can manipulate people into doing things.” She signs.

“How did you know that?”

“Meulin, obviously. Plus Gamzee, too, I guess. In a very loose ‘he can sort of do something similar but not the same’ way,”

You sigh, before signing, “I have a feeling I know what you’re worried about. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you saying I _shouldn’t_ be worried that my moirail could become a puppet?”

You nod. She glares at you. You smile. “I can’t do shit to him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I literally cannot do shit. To manipulate using chucklevoodoos I gotta get into a motherfucker’s pan, and he ain’t got one.”

She snorts. “Did you just say Equius hasn’t got a pan?” She says out loud. You nod.

“Sure feels that way.” You sign back, “Can’t manipulate what’s not there,”

She nods. “Could be the Void doing its weird Voidy… Thing,” She sounds lost in thought.

You cough a couple of times. “What’s his class?” You ask aloud.

“Heir, why?”

…

You look off into the distance.

**_That explains SO MUCH._**

Well, it would explain why it felt like something was protecting his pan, but you couldn’t see what was protecting it… as nothing was _there._

“Did you. You _tried_ to do it??”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Yep.”

“In my defence, I panicked. It didn’t work anyway, so I hit him -”

“You are not making this any better for yourself,”

“- With a plastic bat and caught him before he hit the floor -”

“Okay, that is just barely redeemable,”

“- And carried him into the food prep block on the day he found me in the food storage block.”

“You _carried_ him?”

“I can carry Zahhaks, yes. I _shouldn’t_ though, especially not for an hour, because my back aches for at least 3 nights afterwards.”

“And you tested that exact amount of time?”

You shrug. “You could say that.”

She signs, “Really? Explain,” You have everything to prove and nothing to lose. So you explain.

You sign, “Horuss was basically an anxiety spring when he was 4 sweeps old, so really going to a haunted house attraction with him wasn’t one of my better ideas. I may or may not have had to carry him the entire way through. Then I got lost inside there with him. We spent an hour in there. I was coon-bound for three nights afterwards.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” She says in response, a feeling of… sympathy? Shown through her fingers.

“Damn straight,” You say, your fingers moving in a sharper movement than usual.

She stretches. “So,” She says with her voice box, “All you want from Equius is his hive and his food.”

You nod.

“And you promise to never take advantage of him?”

You nod again.

It’s at this point that she pulls you by the neck of the hoodie and places 3 _very sharp claws_ near your face.

“Because if you do, I just want to let you know I can cull you in over one hundred different ways, and that’s only using my bare hands. I can also leave you just barely on the cusp of death, and watch you suffer in pure agony. I’m an apex predator; back on Alternia, I hunted cholerbears for _fun,_ and for food. Do you know how hard a cholerbear is to take down? Apparently it’s hard, but not for someone who’s been doing it for sweeps. So taking you down will be as easy as taking a walk through the park.”

You gulp. She pushes the claws slightly closer.

“I lost my moirail once because of a Makara. I’m not going to let it happen again.”

You panic, and respond in Beforan, “Good to know. But I’m not going to do anything to hurt him. At least not on purpose. Can’t say what I’ll do accidentally. For the record, I _don’t_ want to date him, so the excessive threats aren’t really up and a necessity-” _Fuck, you’re making it WORSE-_ “But I ain’t gonna do any kind of shit to purposefully hurt him. Fuckin’, he owns this motherfucking hive, it ain’t mine at all; he can kick me out whenever he- in fact, I’ll just leave right now actually if you really want me to-” _FucK FUCKFUC-_

“Would you chill _out???_ You’re giving me a headache!”

_What._

She moves away, putting the mysteriously appearing claws back where they came from. “What class are _you,_ anyway? Whatever that was just now was _way_ stronger than what Gamzee pulled off back on the meteor. But it didn’t really feel like it was directed at me, though,”

Huh?

… Oh, you’re leaking chucklevoodoos again. Why do they always seem to slip out more lately, has your self control really gone that lax? Is it because you were dead for so long?

Anyway, you reign those motherfuckers back in real quick. Too quick, ow fuck, headache.

… Fuck, she asked something.

“Sorry, what?” You mumble, before a quick coughing fit. Too many words in a short period of time. Ouch.

She kindly waits until you’re done coughing to repeat the question. “What class are you?”

“I’m a Prince, why d’ya ask?”

A wave of understanding floods through her, you can tell, but you don’t know _what_ she understands. It is awkwardly quiet for a few moments longer.

“May I ship you?” She says after a while.

That. Was completely out of the blue.

… She’s _definitely_ related to Meulin.

You’ll take the change of subject though.

You nod in reply, and sign, “I used to do ship kind of motherfucking shit with Meulin, kittybitch was never good with the black quads.”

She nods, and says aloud, “I know, she told me! But I handle all the ships in this fleet,”

You sign back, “Ain’t that a little bit of a big responsibility?”

She swings her legs a little. “Don’t tell anyone, but I do _sometimes_ enlist Meulin or Dirk to help. Dirk apparently does it for ‘the ironies’, but I don’t believe that for a second,”

“Your secret’s safe with me, kittysis,” You say, your expression and signs as sincere as you can get them, “But who or what the fuck is a…” You have no idea how to sign whatever a ‘Duhrrk’ or something is, so you spell out the letters instead, “‘D-U-H-R-R-K’?”

She proceeds to tell you that his name is spelt ‘D-I-R-K’. Huh. She then goes on to talk about him. He seems very similar to both Horuss and Equius, but also reminds you a little of yourself.

You decide to ignore the weird feeling you feel as she describes him. Maybe you’ll deal with those feelings when you meet the guy in person.

That is.

 _If_ you meet him in person.

Which will never happen. Probably.

So you decide to not think about it.

… Why is she grinning like that. You don’t catch yourself speaking out loud until it’s far too late.

She smirks, “You’ll see,” That smirk is _devious._ There’s no other word for it, you haven’t seen a smile this devious since Meulin tried to set you up pitch with -

“ **No.** No, no, _no._ Do _not-”_

“You said you wanted to be shipped! I’m just doing my job as the Rogue of Heart!” She winks, she fucking _winks._ She’s a Rogue of Heart, huh? Well, you’re pretty fucking sure that her role is pretty fucking SPOT ON.

Taking all these motherfucking hearts from those who don’t need it and delivering them all to those who do.

You look away and try not to pout too visibly. You’re pretty sure she’s knows you’re pouting though.

“Promise you won’t hurt Equius?” She asks once more after a while.

You nod. “Yeah. No hurting from this motherfucker to him. Promise on my motherfucking regained life,”

She glares at you once more, “Just remember what I said, shithead!” You nod in a serious matter, and she placed her hands on her hips, “But I suppose that’s good enough. For _now,”_

“So… you’re not going to kill me?” You sign.

She signs in reply, “Why are you convinced everyone’s out to cull you?”

“Because it’s pretty fucking obvious why they would. I mean. I would, anyway,”

“Well, my answer is not now. But if you cross me or break our promise? You’ll fucking _see_ what happens.”

… That’s fair.

“I guess I’ll live.”

You both then proceed to have a conversation about what you like in a person so she could ship you with the right people. It was completely embarrassing and you don’t want to think about it. So you don’t.

You think she’s come up with her own ships for you anyway, despite your reluctance to tell her your type.

(You don’t think you have one, despite her insistence that a _certain someone_ would be _amazing for you.)_

(Great, now you’re thinking about it.)

You’re just gonna file all this away under ‘let’s just forget any of that happened’.

* * *

The lion cub left to go see what happened to your host who forgot to tell you his fucking _name._ Despite asking for yours.

You are at a loss as to what to do now. You decide to clean the mess you had made in the kitchen, knowing full well that Little Zah-Uh, _Equius,_ hasn’t done it.

True to your thoughts, he was more bothered in finding a first-aid kit than cleaning up the mess. You mop up the floor for the 5th time today.

It’s been a pretty long day. Lion c- _Nepeta_ comes back down the stairs and stops just short of the food prep block.

“Oh my god, you really _did_ clean his hive.” You hear her mutter. You wonder if she would like something to eat, so you ask. She shrugs, before asking for ‘anything that isn’t clown trash food’. She sits at the dining table and watches you.

What is it with Alternians and watching???

You sigh, and dish up some of the leftover pasta you made and give it to her as soon as you finish mopping the floor.

“What the fuck, this is amazing! Did you make this?” She says. You nod. “Oh my god, I’ll let you live,”

You chuckle at that.

“Equius. He… doesn’t. Really take care of himself, does he?” You mumble. She nods.

“He sure as hell used to, but things have just gone to pot lately. He doesn’t tell me what’s wrong, though! Like-” She takes a bite of food, and you glare at her to try to get her to not talk while eating. (Meulin had a terrible habit of doing that). It fails. You hold in a sigh. “He used to be _amazing_ at cooking, like a cook-pro sorta thing. He was honing his skills to be a chef or a maid - don’t ask about the latter, I told him no but he still has the outfits - and he was really good! Despite how many things he broke _while_ he was making the things. Like, I’m no vegetarian, but the shit he made I could honestly live off.” You notice she uses her arms to make gestures while she speaks. “But like, he just stopped! And it pisses me off because I still don’t know why!” She moves her plate away to gently press her head onto the table. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this when I should be telling my moirail, but. It’s hard. It’s easier to tell a neutral party.”

You nod. “You really should bring it up though. That sounds like some heavy pile gossip and I am not involving myself in that.”

She looks up. “Good. You shouldn’t.”

“And I won’t. What you do or say on the pile is none of my business. Or anyone else’s.”

It’s quiet for about 10 minutes while she eats. You let your mind wander.

“Oh!” She says, grabbing your attention. You make an affirming ‘hmm?’ sound. “Equius is asleep. Again. So I’m staying here. He wrote a list of things he needs to do for the week, which I sneakily stole from his block to figure out if we could lessen that burden. That ok with you?”

You shrug. “Sure,” You sign.

She reads out the list out loud. “The first thing is asking about… your showers?”

You think for a moment, “Water supply?” You guess.

“Oh! That makes sense, the last thing is to tell Roxy about it- She controls the water supply, she’s really nice!!”

You nod. Okay, you just had a 6 hour long shower, so it _should_ theoretically reset. Wait.

“What day is it today?”

“Sunday, why?”

You nod a thanks.

… No wonder you had a 6 hour long shower. It’s your usual Sunday Shower plus 3 hours.

“Anyway,” She continues, “The second thing is to eat at least once a day, but you and I will make sure he eats more than that, right?” You nod. “Third thing relates to me and not you, and is marked as important. Aww. Fourth thing is to shower once we have water, can you make sure he does that? I’ll make sure too,” You nod again. She makes a questioning sound.

“Something wrong?” You ask.

“Oh! These two relate to the updates Karkat does every week. Karkat’s good at keeping things on schedule, and Equius has a tendency to keep up with it religiously, despite being a cryptid himself. Anyway, he wants to give some blood to Kanaya and to avoid Meenah.”

“Avoiding Meenah is a mood.”

She nods, “Damn straight it is. Wait,” She looks back up at you. “Do you have a phone?”

Uhm.

You shake your head to say no, and sign a small ‘I lost it.’

“Fuck. Hmm.” She takes a while to think, so you pick up her plate and wash up the dishes. She takes you by surprise (which you don’t show) when she yells, “A-ha!!”

You turn around, “Hm?”

“Do you have Trollian?” She asks. You nod.

She explains that you could borrow her phone for the time being to troll Roxy. You tell her that you think you need to add her first, and she nods.

“Don’t worry, she won’t kill you either. At least I don’t think so. She just wants to know how long you shower for!” She says.

You wonder which one you should give her. You suppose the one which is always offline and has no friends attached to it is the best option here, rather than your main one or the offline one _with_ friends attached. You walk into the pantry, grab the notebook and pen, and walk back out again. You write the handle down and hand it to the lion cub.

thaumatogenyCacology.

“What the fuck kind of handle is that?” She asks.

You shrug.

“Oh well, no one’s judging here. I’m arsenicCatnip, after all.”

You chuckle at that. “I have an unhealthy habit of owning far to many trollian accounts,” You sign.

“Huh?”

You sign to her that you currently have 5 active accounts, 1 account you’ve forgot the username and password for (a lie, you remember it but it has bad… connections), and 3 dead and gone accounts so far (not a lie, they’re dead due to the same reason as the inactive account).

“Why?”

You shrug. (You’ll never tell.)

She doesn’t press you further. She merely shrugs, and takes out her phone. She does a few things, before handing it to you.

“Don’t get any ideas now,” She says.

“Like what?” You ask.

 _Like stealing her phone and running away, taking all her valuable details with you. Duh._ **Fuck off, like she’d let you get that far. She jumped you mid _flash step._** _It’s still possible._ **Ugh.**

“Like… ugh, you know what I mean.”

You do.

You sign in.

It takes a few minutes to think about what the fuck your password for _this_ account is.

(You need to change it you _need to change it you need to_ ** _change it change it_** **_change it change-_** )

thaumatogenyCacology, welcome back!

You have 0 unread messages!

You have 1 new friend request!

Oh?

tipsyGnostalgic [TG]  sent a friend request!

Accept | Ignore

Oh??

You show Nepeta the handle. She nods and says, “Yeah, that’s Roxy!”

Ohhh.

You press accept.

You begin to write a message to her.

\-- thaumatogenyCacology [TC] started trolling tipsyGnostalgic [TG]! --

TC: HELLO.  
TC: I WAS TOLD TO MESSAGE A MOTHERFUCKER BY A NEPETA?  
TG: so u must be mimeclown makara  
TG: tho meus mentooned u havin a comepltly doffernet account name  
TC: I HAVE A LOT OF ACCOUNTS.  
TC: DON’T INQUIRE ABOUT IT.  
TG:   
TG: pfff  
TG: inquire  
TG: anyway ye im the alnighty roxy and i control the water supply  
TC: I AM SO SORRY.  
TG: U SHOULD BE OMG  
TG: YOU DONT JNOW THE PAIN OF HAVINF FUCKIN _KANKRI_ YELL AT YOU ABOUT HIS SHOWR GOIN COMLD WHEN YOU LEGIT BE AWAKENING FROM THE BEST DREAM EVER  
TC: I.  
TC: OKAY, THIS MAY SOUND HARSH HOWEVER I REALLY DON’T REGRET ANYTHING ABOUT THAT MOST HOLY OF MOTHERFUCKING SHOWERS NOW I KNOW THIS.  
TG: btch!!!  
TC: HONK.  
TC: :o)  
TG: anYWAY  
TG: pls twll me if yous got like. some kind of shower shedul  
TG: dirky doesnt but i hope u do bc i _know_ dirk soi know how he works   
TG: idk how u do u  
TC:   
TC: MOTHERFUCKERS DON’T BE SCHEDULING THEIR CLEANLINESS ROUTINES?  
TC: I SHOULD NOT BE AS SURPRISED AS I AM, AND YET HERE I AM, SURPRISED.  
TG: Dann lozzy  
TG: tho u legit schedule it?  
TC: YES. HERE IT IS:  
TC: I DON’T SHOWER ON MONDAYS. UNLESS SOMETHING GROSS HAS COME UP, I JUST DON’T. I DON’T KNOW WHY, IT’S JUST A THING.  
TC: THOUGH BECAUSE OF NOT AT ALL WASHING ON A MONDAY, I SHOWER FOR 2 HOURS AND 23 MINUTES ON A TUESDAY. THEN 30 MINUTES ON A WEDNESDAY.  
TC: THURSDAYS IS A 1 HOUR AND 58 MINUTE SHOWER.   
TG: tthas p specific  
TC: I KNOW. BUT ANY LONGER IS TOO LONG AND ANY SHORTER IS NOT ENOUGH.  
TC: FRIDAY IS MY 2 HOUR AND 45 MINUTE SHOWER. SATURDAY IS MY 45 MINUTE SHOWER.  
TC: AND FINALLY, TODAY (SUNDAY) IS MY 3 HOUR AND 23 MINUTE SHOWER.  
TC: I ALSO WASH FOR 3 HOURS IF SOMETHING GROSS HAPPENS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER FEELING ICKY AFTER KILLING A BUG.  
TC: IT THOUGHT IT WAS ACCEPTABLE TO TOUCH A MOTHERFUCKER.  
TC: NO. IT IS NOT ACCEPTABLE.   
TC: FUCK OFF.  
TG: dirk said smth along those lines too aftr a bug touched him and he showered for a good 2 hrs.  
TG: i didnt believe him then and i dont believe u now  
TC: I.  
TC:   
TG: :)  
TC:   
TC: ANYWAY, THE 6 HOURS WAS PROBABLY A SUNDAY + 3 HOURS OF GROSSNESS BEING WASHED AWAY TOGETHER. MOST LIKELY WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN ANY TIME SOON. AGAIN, MY APOLOGIES TO EVERYONE EXCEPT THAT SMARMY MOTHERFUCKER AND THE OTHER SMARMY MOTHERFUCKERS I MAY HAVE INCONVENIENCED.  
TG: lol  
TG: thx 4 twklin me anyeya  
TG: despite not habing a pjone  
TC: NEPETA HAS LENT ME HER MOBILE COMMUNICATIONS DEVICE FOR A MOTHERFUCKER TO GET ALL ON AND USING AT THIS MOMENT IN TIME, WHICH I AM GRATEFUL FOR.  
TC: I LOST MY PHONE :o(  
TG: shiiiit!!!!!  
TG: did u have anthin impor5ont ont here??  
TC: ...  
TC: I DON’T SAVE PERSONAL INFORMATION ON MY PHONE.  
TC: SOMEONE COULD LOOK AT IT.  
TC: OR SOMETHING LIKE THIS COULD HAPPEN... WHICH LEADS TO SOMEONE LOOKING AT IT.  
TG: you are veyr secretive for a not-void pkayer  
TC: IF THAT’S WHAT A MOTHERFUCKER WANTS TO ALL UP AND CALL IT THEN SURE.  
TG: what do u call it then??  
TC: WHY DOES A MOTHERFUCKER WANTING TO GET THEIR KNOW ON?  
TG: i PROMISE i wont tell  
TC:   
TC: TRULY?  
TG: yeah, truly!!  
TG: voids aby keepin sectets and shit  
TG: like, i can take shit as a rogue  
TG: combine that w void and i can literallu take ur secrets if i _really_ wanted to  
TG: which i wont bc thats just fuckin mean af  
TC: THANK FUCK, BUT ALSO PLEASE DON’T.  
TG: trust me i wont.  
TG: but like i can take neps pjone righr now if i wanted  
TG: i wont but i _could_  
TC: WOW THAT MAKES ME FEEL SO MUCH BETTER.  
TG: ehehehe. i could prob find ur phone too if u wanted :p  
TC: HUH. GOOD TO KNOW.  
TG: and also, theres shit i know about equius that u shure as hell DONT and i ant breaking a promise to twll you even if u dont count  
TC: WAIT. LIKE WHAT?  
TG: wpulsnt u like to know ;)  
TC: IS HE GOING TO KILL ME IN MY SLEEP?  
TG: what  
TG: no  
TG: the fuck  
TG: hes nwver webt kn a kulling spree ever in his life  
TG: i was talking about the fact he can see whats unseen no matter how hard you hide it. he KNOWS soemhow, bc he KOWS hte voud. he IS yhe void  
TG: im not sure what horuss can do, but   
TG: hes probably pretty dang powerful  
TG: considering the pageness ykniw  
TG: theyee uber powerful at high levels  
TG: like holy shit  
TG: take jake as an example and youll see my reasoning  
TC: UGH FINE. I’LL TELL.  
TG: NICE  
TG: well u didnt have 2 byt like yeah  
TG: im intersed af rn omg  
TG: ...   
TG: kurloz??  
TG: wow lozzy ypuve been typin a while

You know you have.

LONG STORY SHORT, A MOTHERFUCKER’S PARANOID. I HAVE A DEEP SET IRRATIONAL FEAR THAT NOT ONLY AM I BEING CONSTANTLY WATCHED, NO MATTER HOW MANY STEPS I TAKE TO MAKE SURE I’M NOT, IF I DON’T DO CERTAIN THINGS IN A CERTAIN SET PARTICULAR ORDER, EVERYONE I KNOW AND APPRECIATE WILL BE BRUTALLY MURDERED AND I WILL BE BLAMED AND PUNISHED FOR IT. SO I HAVE TO DO THINGS RIGHT AND IN SET MOTHERFUCKING ORDER TO GET ALL KINDS OF PREVENTION ON OF IT. IT KEEPS ME SANE. IT’S STUPID I KNOW BUT IT’S TRUE.

You erase it all. No one needs to know that. Especially not someone you barely know. So you keep it all inside. No use in running off false hope that anyone cares anyway.

TC: WANNA KNOW WHAT IT IS?  
TG: yes 100%  
TC:  
TC:  
TC: :o)   
TG: oh u jus like being a mysterious motherfucker dont ya???  
TC: DAMN STRAIGHT I DO.   
TC: THIS MOTHERFUCKER BE A MESSIAHS DAMNED ENIGMA, AND THEY AIN’T NO KINDS OF SHAME IN THAT REGARD.  
TC: :o)  
TG: lol  
TG: n e way thx for telling me   
TG: i ca deal with it pretty successfully now  
TG: youre a p chill guy you know?  
TG: kudos  
TC: :o)  
TC: IT IS NOT A PROBLEM IN MYSELF, SIS.  
TC: APOLOGIES AGAIN FOR CAUSING THE HASSLE, HOWEVER.  
TG: apologies accepted  
TG: dont fuckin do it again tho   
TC: I WILL STRIVE NOT TO.   
TG: aigt so i gotta dash rq but hey we might meet up again or somethin   
TG: whi knoes  
TC: I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND ME REMOVING YOU FROM MY FRIENDS LIST  
TC: THIS ACCOUNT IS... MY EMERGENCY ACCOUNT, IF YOU WILL.  
TC: NO FRIENDS ATTACHED.  
TG: o ok  
TG: thats chill w me  
TG: seeya!  
TC: BYE, PINK SIS.

\-- thaumatogenyCacology [TC] ceased trolling  tipsyGnostalgic [TG]! --

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You are now logged out.

Thank God that’s over.

You hand the phone back to Nepeta, saying a quick yet quiet thanks. She nods.

“No problem, is everything fixed?” She asks, and you nod. It’s all fixed. Everything will be ok.

You hope.

Oh sweet messiahs, do you hope.

(And, as comes with everything you hope for, it probably will all come crashing down.)

You ignore that thought and ask what’s next on her moirails list, but there wasn’t much else that you could help with.

You had asked Nepeta how heavy a sleeper Equius was, and decided to deep clean the upstairs and vacuum around once you learn he sleeps very heavily.

You ask if you can have a look at a new iron and ironing board for him, despite having no cash to purchase it. She lets you, and the both of you use her grubtop to look for them. She pays for it herself, which you feel kind of bad for, and tells you that it ‘should arrive by tomorrow or the next day’.

You sign that you feel pretty bad for making her pay for it. She informs you that the boondollars collected in SBURB could be converted into this new worlds currency, which is why everyone is a, rich and b, able to purchase things without thinking about it first.

… You had no idea.

You give her 420,000 boonbucks. She stares at you, before giving them back, shaking her head. “You’ll need it,” She says.

That makes sense.

* * *

Nepeta fell asleep on the lounge-plank a few hours ago, so you had gone to the food storage block and placed your blanket over her.

You’re far too worried to sleep, anyway.

So instead, you spend the next hour or so thinking.

Some people _know_ you’re here.

They _know_ about your existence.

And yet somehow. _Somehow._

You’re _not dead._

… Why?

This makes no sense, _why??_

**_WHY HAS NOBODY TRIED TO KILL YOU??_ **

Nepeta’s threat doesn’t count. She was being over-protective of her moirail due to your _dancestor’s_ previous actions, not your own. She wasn’t trying to kill you for what _you’ve_ done, she was threatening you because you’re associated with ‘Makara’. Because of the fact that a Makara has killed her moirail in the past, and she doesn’t want it to happen again. Nothing about that threat was aimed at you _personally,_ nor was it aimed at what you’ve done. It was aimed at your associations, it was a threat to not do ill by her moirail. Which does makes sense, in a way. You would do the same.

However.

What doesn’t make an iota of sense is **_why the fuck does nobody here want to kill you for your own actions._ **

Do they… not know about them?

(Imagine. They don’t know of the actions you performed to do ill by everyone. You can’t take credit for what did, as no one knows you did _anything._ So no one knows you’ve done ill by them. And yet, they still hate you. Simply by association.)

(Nothing of this world is of your creation. Nothing is of your _design._ You did remotely _nothing_ to help its formation. You would rather it be destroyed, you _wanted_ it destroyed. That was the plan, after all. Destruction. It’s what you do best. Princes are destructive. Why are they needed to create something in the first place, why do they _exist?_ They can’t create anything. _You_ can’t create anything. All you do is ruin. Why were you needed in the Lord’s _creation?)_

(Oh yeah. To serve The Bard. Your Dancestor. Gamzee. A Prince like you, serving a _bard?_ What a sick joke that was.)

(Your only purpose is to serve, to follow direction. That’s all you’ve ever done. It’s all you ever _will_ do. It’s ingrained into your being. Put up with audacious bullshit with a false smile upon your visage. Pretend to unknow knowledge of everything you’ve ever said or did, pretend like you have no idea what is happening. It was all for one purpose, and that was to _serve._ To serve the Lord. And to _serve_ the Lord, you had needed to _serve_ the Bard in his quest to create the Lord. Create is the wrong word. He was already there. He is already here…? Time was never your gambit. That’s Damara’s thing. Creation is someone else's thing.)

(You hate the thought of serving.)

(You hate hate _hate_ it.)

(But it’s all you’ve ever been good at. It’s been ingrained into your being from the moment they threw you in the Church homes. It’s a surprise you haven’t fucking flipped your shit yet.)

(Why did you join this religion again? Because of some stupid motherfucking clouds??)

(Stupid good for nothing clouds.)

You breathe, soft and steady. You’re lethargic, but not tired. You’re confined in this hive until it is safe to go outside. Which will be never. You’ve cleaned _everything._ There’s nothing left to do. You’re _antsy._

Maybe you should get a hobby.

Maybe you should look up how to convert boondollars into cash.

Maybe you should look up some clothing for yourself.

Maybe this. Maybe that.

Maybe it’s _you_ who is the depressed one. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised.

(It would make sense.)

(Your religion is a lie, your friends hate the thought and sight of you, and what’s worst of all is that the only person to blame here is you.)

(You deserve their hatred. Even if it’s misguided.)

(Maybe…)

No. You will _not_ go there.

(It doesn’t help that it’s tempting. A fit of Rage. That’s all you need. The adrenaline will deal with the rest.)

(It’s not even that hard.)

(You need to feel their hatred, even if it means inflicting it yourself. Even if they don’t hate you. They should. You deserve this. You need to-)

 _No._ You won’t do it again. You refuse. You _can’t_ show emotion, people will wonder what’s wrong. Doing something like that will cause people to worry.

(Again.)

(You were careless. You were careless and you narrowly avoided culling that time. Luck, you guess.)

(And so-called “Love”.)

(No. That’s a lie. It was pure-hearted Love. It was first Love.)

(It was a love that fizzled down to nothing but pure guilt.)

(Green is the colour of Guilt.)

 

Just put on a brave face and flip everyone the double bird. Everyone will think you’re ok, and leave you the fuck alone.

(‘… If your high enough on the Spectrum’. Mituna used to say that.)

(Gold is the colour surrounding Guilt. Gold is the colour framing the Green Guilt.)

(You fucked up.)

(You fucked up _so bad.)_

 

Besides, doing shit like that is a mess. It could be loud, too. You’ll just wake Nepeta up, and that’s just rude. She’s only been asleep for a few hours.

**_Now stop thinking about it._ **

(Knowing your luck, you’ll end up deafening another cat. That won’t happen again. Not on your watch.)

(Heh. That’s probably why you can’t sleep.)

Sewing your mouth up again is still on the table, though. You definitely probably still want to do that at some point. If the… _other_ thing isn’t available, sewing your mouth up definitely is.

(If you can teach Equius sign language. But… if you can’t?)

 

(You don’t want to think about it.)

(So you don’t.)

(That’s a lie. You’re still thinking about it.)

(Stop thinking about it.)

You need to leave. This was a bad idea in the first place, had you not got locked in you wouldn’t have _stayed._

Trapped.

That’s what you are.

You’re… hive trapped? Residence Bound? … Under house arrest?

You’re sure there’s a better word for it.

Doesn’t matter. The point still remains the same.

You’re Homestuck.

… Heh. That’s a good word for it.

You wonder if you should just leave. Go. You did ok in the forest, surely no one would care if you left.

(But the pink girl was changing the water system to include you. It wouldn’t be fair on her to leave.)

**_UGH._ **

You would motherfucking scream _so loud_ if you weren’t in the same vicinity as a cat.

Like you said. No deafening cats again. It’s not a viable option.

You decide to just Troogle how to convert boondollars into cash. Then watch a few GrubTube videos. Quietly, because you don’t know where any headphones are.

You don’t realise how tired you are until you can’t keep your eyes open.

 

You don’t realise you fell asleep until you wake up.

“Honk…?” You mumble. You look over and the kitten is no longer sleeping on the sofa. You sit up to find something fall off you. The blanket you put over her. Huh.

You wonder where she is. You stretch and stand up, deciding to get some food.

You find the cub in the kitchen. “Hey, asshole,” She says. Is she giving you a nickname…? You’re too tired to process anything. You just make yourself a piece of toast instead.

“Honk,”

“Do you only say honk in the morning or something?”

You butter your toast, put it on a plate and sit down at the table. You nod. “Honk.”

Today is not a processing day. Today is a ‘I feel like shit’ day. Today is going to _suck._

“Want some tea?” She asks. You nod.

She makes you Chameow- uh. Camomile. She makes it well. It’s nice when it’s not being poured all over you.

“Sorry.” You mumble after a while, “For the tea thing.”

She shrugs. “It’s okay,” She says, before sipping some tea. She looks up at you afterwards, “Just remember not to scare me like that again, okay?”

You nod, signing a small ‘I promise.’

It takes you some time to eat your toast.

Yep, today is one of _those_ days.

“You look like shit, by the way.” She offhandedly says. You tell her that you feel like shit too. She thinks on something. “Maybe you need more sleep?” She suggests.

… Considering you got about 2, maybe 3 hours sleep (you haven’t checked the time, but it was closer to 1 hour. You don’t want to admit that), she’s probably right.

She takes you to a spare block. There’s a… bed? You think it’s called a bed. There’s a bed in the middle and a window on the outside wall. It’s nice; decent size, En Suite bathroom, locks work, a little bit (extremely) dusty. But workable. Nice.

Almost… homely.

You spend an hour dusting the block until it is clean, before taking a longer rest on the bed. You need it.

(Honk.)

* * *

It’s been 3 months since you’ve woke up on this planet. It’s been 2 months since Equius decided to take you in as his roommate. It’s been one month since you actually accepted the fact that you could _live_ here.

It’s been a wild few months. You met Roxy by happenstance. She berated you for taking all the water (again), but in a way that made you think she actually didn’t mind that much. You suppose she cared more about the fact that Kankri Fucking Vantas was ranting at her about his cold shower. In your personal opinion: Fuck him. This was a week after Nepeta offered you one of Equius’ spare rooms to sleep in. Equius decided soon after that it was your respiteblock.

(You still prefer the pantry sometimes, but having a block to call your own is so, so nice.)

(Fuck, you’re calling the food storage block a pantry now.)

(Oh well.)

You, also by happenstance, ended up meeting that Dirk motherfucker. That meeting was also a wild ride. You still have left over feelings regarding it, and refuse to think about it further.

(It feels similar, yet not. You can’t parse it.)

You still think it’s unsafe to announce your presence yet. You still fear everyone will cull you. So you’ve stayed under the radar. You have a grubtop of your own now, but still no mobile device. You wonder if you even need one, considering you never leave the hive.

You’ve picked up a lot of hobbies over the last few months, and you feel like you could actually carry on like this. You like the fact that you’re not alone anymore.

You feel like you finally have a home.

Even if said home is making you stir-crazy.

You even accidentally revealed your presence to Horuss, who as it turns out lives in the hive opposite Equius. That meeting was kind of silly, in hindsight. You were cleaning windows at the time, and he had spotted you.

… The windows needed cleaning.

… _Desperately._

Anyway.

You do not have access as of yet to Karkat’s “Weekly Update” as you know it as. You get that off Equius. You’ve seemingly have had small talk about your presence float around the village occasionally. Which is funny, in your opinion.

(It’s also terrifying.)

You made another entirely new trollian account, of which you currently have 4 people in that contact list. Equius, Roxy, Dirk, and Nepeta. Maybe when it’s safer, you can add them to your main account, and delete some of the other “friends” on it.

Spring clean your friends list.

A kerfuffle outside piques your interest, so you look out of the window. Which is now _not_ a dirt riddled mess. It now functions as a window.

Then you promptly duck away because _oh shit one of them doesn’t know you’re here._

You move up a little bit, enough to see but not be seen.

It looks like an argument. And not just _any_ old argument. An argument between Rufioh ‘Too Much Of A Wimp To Admit His True Feelings’ Nitram and Horuss ‘Ignores The Problem Until The Problem Is Irrelevant’ Zahhak.

The Rage is hard not to latch onto. You’ve known they’ve had problems with their relationship for millenia. Breath Players aren’t known for their ability to stay tied down in relationships. Void Players are known for their overall clinginess to something that keeps them bound in this realm. Friendship, Relationships, even sometimes inanimate objects.

Rage Players are known to… what are you known for? You’re resolute. An asshole.

But you are _not_ a meddler. (That’s a Light thing. And a Sylph thing.)

You feel the Rage from both (Horuss more than Rufioh, which is shocking), and you want to break it apart. But you don’t. You’ve broken enough.

You let the Rage have its course. You look away from the scene and close your eyes, focusing purely on the Rage. Maybe there’s other ways around your Classpect. A way you can help without being destructive.

You feel it about to explode. That’s not good. Highblood Rage is _not good._

(You’re rooting for him to punch Rufioh. But that’s you projecting. You don’t want a _death_ on his head. You don’t know what this is about, and you don’t want to exploit your powers to find out - _no fucking meddling_ \- but you know that as much as he wants to kill him right now, he’d never be able to live with himself. He’d do something stupid.)

To stop what you think is Horuss doing something stupid, you do something stupid instead.

You manipulate his current Highblood Rage into yourself to destroy, without taking his in regular In The Moment Rage.

You glance up and see Horuss push Rufioh way harder than necessary, realise what he did, and run away.

You take (far more than) an hour to destroy the Rage by baking a cake and stress cleaning.

You sigh a heavy breath once finished. That shit was _potent._ You walk over to your grubtop, calm again.

… Maybe you should text him.

You sign into the offline account with a handful of friends attached. Horuss, Mituna, and Meulin.

temenousCatacomb, welcome back!

You have 0 unread messages!

Thank the Messiahs. You click on Horuss’s name. You might as well check up on him, right? He knows you exist and hasn’t killed you yet, so you assume it’s safe.

\-- temenousCatacomb [TC] started trolling canterandTrot [CT]! --

TC: :o?

\-- temenousCatacomb [TC] ceased trolling canterandTrot [CT]! --

You leave the message at that.

(You were right. You _were_ too late.)

(You’re not a Hope player. Stop pretending that you are.)

You can only hope that he hasn’t done something stupid.

(Why are you hoping. You _know_ what happens when you hope.)

(Stop pretending to be something you are clearly not.)

 

When Equius came back hive that day, you faked a smile and offered him a slice of cake. He told you that word has gone round that his dancestor has gone missing. He told you that he checked his hive and found it empty. You patted his back and reassured him that his dancestor will be ok.

“I’m not worried about him.” He had said. “Well, I am. A lot, actually. But it’s not just that. Things are changing. People are breaking apart at the seams.”

You nodded, acknowledging his worries.

He finished by saying, “I’m worried about what this means for everyone. If it means that I’ll fall apart too.”

“You won’t fall apart. You’ll adapt. You have Nepeta.” You mumbled, as you signed to him. Doing it this way helps him learn, you think.

“What if she hates me?” He doesn’t sign back, that’s his problem. He’s an idiot who wants to learn but holds himself back.

“Are you listening to yourself?”

“No…”

“Meulin and Horuss based their relationship purely off of the fact you and Nepeta were such great moirails. That’s how good you two are together. Fuck that noise you’re spouting.” You had said.

He ate his cake, you had a slice too, and that was your day finished.

You grew more and more worried when there was still no sign of him. No word back. You’re naturally a worried person, it’s your nature.

(Maybe if you had analysed his Rage more, instead of destroying it the first chance you got, you would have known _why_ this had happened.)

(There’s too much drama. You avoided it like you always do. You acted first and thought about it later, like you always do.)

You get messages sometimes.

Mostly from Mituna.

… They’re all from Mituna.

He’s messaged all but two of your accounts. Those two being the New account and the Emergency Account. (You don’t check the ‘Dead’ account, but you don’t doubt he’s messaged that one, too.)

You finally decide to read a few in the safety of your respiteblock.

(Feels nice to say that. Genuine Article Respiteblock.)

TA: 8R0, CH3KC 7H15 5H17 0U7 L1K13 HW44444447???!  https://g.tube/7gt34BG

Heh, that video is pretty wild.

TA: KURL0Z 8R0 WH3N U G37 7H14 73LL M3 1F Y0U TH1NK 5N33P 2N0RP 15 FUNNY

… Sneep snorp really is funny.

TA: 840 1 K1NK4 W  
TA: PFFFFJDJDISISISJ K 1NK 1M DY1NG 0M G 7H47 W45 4N 4CC1D3N 7 1 5W34R

You try and stop yourself from laughing. You fail. Mituna’s messages just have a tendency to make you laugh in a good way. _Mituna_ just makes you laugh in the best kind of ways. You thankfully succeed in stopping yourself from crying in laughter because of what messages he’s left you.

Until you log back into temenousCatacomb again. Then the tears won’t stop falling. For another reason entirely.

temenousCatacomb, welcome back!

You have 34 unread messages!

TA: 8R0 1 K1ND4 M155 H4V1NG U 4R01ND 83C4U53 3V3RY1 H3R3 15 4 FUVK1NG N008  
TA: MEUL1N M15535 U 2  
TA: 5H3’5 JU57 7RY1NG 70 M0V3 0N  
TA: 5H3’5 F41L1NG, 8U7 5H3’5 7RY1NG  
TA: 5H3 7H1NK5 Y0UR D34D, 8Y7 1 KNO2 UR N07  
TA: Y0U   
TA:  
TA: YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME ‘LOZ! I’M THE HEIR OF DOOM, I KNOW WHEN PEOPLE DIE AND I KNOW YOU’RE NOT DESD!!   
TA: PEOPL3 SAY 8M DOING 5HIS T9 C0P3 8U7 1 LN02 UR NOT D34D  
TA: D00M.W08LD HAVE TOLD TM3N  
TA: MEM  
TA: MME  
TA: AJEUDUDUDIDISJA SHEUEIS SJSNFIDOD   
TA:   
TA: 1M 50RRY  
TA: H3H, Y0U M1GH7 J4V3 JU57 L057 Y0UR PH0N3 0R 50M37B1MF, 1 W0ULDN’T 833 5URPR1NSED  
TA:  
TA: M4Y83 UR 2 5V4R3D 70 C0M3 84CL   
TA: M4Y84 7J3R35 2 MUCH DR4M4  
TA: H3H, 5T0RY 0F 83F0RUS  
TA:   
TA: 1M 5UR3 D00M W0ULD H4V3 70LD M3 1FU D13D  
TA: 50 WHY 4R3 U 50 5C4R3D 70 73LL M3 Y0U’R3 N07 D43D?   
TA: D0N’7 4N5W3R 7H47  
TA: N07 7H47 U W1LL  
TA: C0N51D3R1MG 7H15 15 UR L0WK3Y 7R0LL14N  
TA: 8U7 1 KN02 WHY  
TA: 17 JU47 C0M3 70 M3 WHY Y0UD 83 6C4R3D  
TA: 4ND 1 D0N’T KN01 H0W 2 H3LP U W17H 7H47  
TA: 1F 17 M4K35 U F33L 4BY 83773R, 1 D0N’7 H4T3 Y0U  
TA: 1 D0N’7 7H1NK 1 3V3R C0ULD  
TA:   
TA: G00D T4LK 8R0  
TA: CY4

You’re just glad no one can see you like this, because you are a sobbing _mess._

_WHY DON’T THEY HATE YOU. THEY SHOULD. THEY REALLY._

_Really._

Really… should.

(Maybe you’re passively destroying their capability to hate you. Equius once said he couldn’t ‘stay mad at you’.)

(If _you’re_ the one making them incapable of hating you when they really _really_ should, then logically you have to hate yourself for them. It’s the only way to get what you deserve.)

This is the third time you’ve cried, officially. You can’t _fucking stop. PLEASE JUST_ ** _FUCKING STOP._**

You don’t stop crying. You curl up into a ball on the bed, wrapped around a pillow and cry like a wiggler whose lusus just got brutally murdered.

Great, now you’re thinking about SeagoatDad. And SeagullDad, for that matter. The tears get worse. You are a bonafide mess. And you know it, too.

(It’s a shame no one will ever love you again, because _damn_ you’re some mighty fine pale-material right now.)

You roll over and stare at the ceiling.

You hate this stupid newly formed universe. It’s been official since you woke up on it that you hated it. And apparently, the feeling is mutual.

You’re tired of feeling emotions.

No.

You’re just _tired._ You can’t help anyone. You never could. You pretend to be something you’re not. You fake your external appearance because you’re afraid of what might happen if you don’t. (You’re afraid in general.) You don’t want to do something stupid. You don’t want to be an issue, to make a fuss. So you sit up, and decide to make yourself useful.

You do your habitual ritual regarding your GrubTop and turning it off, however you omit the ‘delete logs’ part. You hover the cursor over the yes button before changing your mind and pressing no. Once it switches itself off completely, you close the lid and sigh.

You head into the bathroom and proceed to make an attempt of being a troll being.

(If anyone asks, it was for Mituna’s sake.)

(Brushing teeth? Mituna. Combing hair? Mituna. Showering? No, that’s just habitual. But the droplets of blood falling from your arm where you dug your nails to reopen some old scars? That was for Mituna.)

(You won’t go further. You refuse to go that far again. No matter how tempting it is to. Slipping back into old habits never ends well. You should know this by now. And yet? Yet you still do it. Disgraceful, really.)

When you arrived into the kitchen, Equius asked about the blood on arm. You had just smiled and said it was an accident. You picked a scab, or something. You can’t remember what you said. Either way, you don’t think he believed you.

(He should be glad it wasn’t worse. You could have destroyed your emotions, but you didn’t.)

(He’s got enough on his plate to worry about, you should stop worrying him.)

(You were careless. Again. You should have wore his hoodie you refuse to give back to hide the blood.)

(The hoodie is too comfy and soft to just give up like that. You won’t do it. That is absolutely the only reason why you won’t give it up.)

 

(Shut up.)

He wrapped your injured arm in a small bandage anyway, despite your constant rejections to it. You made him lunch in return.

In your opinion, if you can make his life a little easier, that’s all you can ask for. You don’t hope. Rage players can never Hope, after all. It all ends up crashing down on top of you like a burning building during a land-shake phenomenon, and there isn’t a way to escape damage it causes.

So you’ve officially decided. You don’t hope. You _won’t_ hope.

You will never ‘hope’ again.

**Author's Note:**

> He'll feel better soon. Maybe.
> 
> Equius's installment coming soon. It will coincide with this installment nicely.


End file.
